Selected Works

BARN OWL

A squat clock on the roadside,
I screeched to a stop:
you looked at me affronted
with your old time face in
that narrow lane hung over
with droopy hip and haw,
the bright moonlight
catching the snowy white
of your stunningly circular face,
beak pointing to six o’clock,
dark eyes blinking the seconds
of the night away, before
you, oh so majestically, flew off,
tawny wings stately flapping across
my windscreen’s amazed glass.

September 2019