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

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