Poetry
The Owl Moves A calling She slips from the flannel envelope of her Slumber And mind Beckoned by the stillness The chill The darkness to gaze Amid the barren branches of the winter's night A voice Created, of a creature An oral beacon that echoes in the cavern of time Louder, still louder "Speak, my heart listens; guide, I will follow" Distant diamonds of light Wings brush the dawn Her flight By RMM 1/28/13