Dance Of The Barn Owl

By Susan Wood

The evening draws nigh and the stage is set,
An inspired portrayal awaits us yet.
The jet-black eyes search the ground,
While invisible ears, listen for sound.
Balletic moves and contours to see,
Floating feathers, airless and free.
Cavorting glides and swaying moves,
As night slowly ebbs, the dance improves.
Ghostly white owls float on the breeze,
Performing an encore draped by the trees.
We perceive the ballet for a fleeting time,
An accomplished performance: a vision sublime.

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