The Owl sat under the desolate Moon,
hungry and cold, clothed in gloom,
watching, listening for a signal to fly
silent and deadly, death from the sky.
The mouse, senses warned not to stir
not even to twitch his nose in the air
a hunting Owl was somewhere near
filling him with such trembling fear.
The Owl took flight, ever silently so
gliding from his perch , swooping low
snatching the mouse who had no chance
he was food that night, life and deaths dance.
LadyP © 2011