On Her Blindness
An owl was out to trace
Her prey from night’s full grace.
Moon was pale, slow and full,
Though her mate’s face was dull.
The lake's gleaming face fades,
And bashfully glamourous as brides
Do stars adorn the chaste skies,
And turns on the blue nights.
In small house roofs and streets,
Fields and trees, were her treats.
A Glow worm’s lightning made
The old owl’s vision fade.
Whom shall she may complain,
Of the loss of her view plain?
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