Nightly Owl Check
We heard their gentle hoots before we found
the great horned silhouettes in their new tree,
one doting parent tearing prey apart
to feed their fluffy feather duster chick.
Too young to fly, it must have fallen when
the storm hit their dilapidated nest,
now draped like curtains down the old tree’s trunk.
The crows cried out their warnings all day long.
They must have seen the flapping owlet climb.
We missed it, but all’s well. We head back home.
JoAnn Early Macken
Happy National Poetry Month! Happy Poetry Friday! The roundup is at Dori Reads. Enjoy!