In the middle of the night, when animals play and fight, the darkness reigned supreme, and I heard an owl scream, Who! The owl didn’t give a hoot, or like a crow let out a whoot, it wasn’t the screech owl’s scream, but simply, as in a dream, who. With the rising of a fog, I heard the croaking of a frog, reverberate throughout the wood, and then the owl, because he could, said whooo. As the moon reduced the pall, It’s glare created shadows tall, I looked upon the ground below, for the subject of the low, when the owl said who? There he sat upon the limb, with eyes aglow and visage grim, his feathers puffed as if to fly, upon some prey from perch on high, but all he said was who. I left him to his thoughts so deep, of prey afoot that would not keep, and went to lie upon my bed, to let sweet dreams fill my head, and all he said was who!
Copyright 2016, John Paul Mueller