The Owl Poem by Angela Wybrow

I sit in a tree top way up high;
A saffron moon hangs in the sky.
The air tonight is bitterly cold,
And hunger pangs have taken a hold.

My saucer-like eyes search for some prey:
For the unfortunate few, it's their unlucky day;
A sudden movement catches my eye,
And, in an instant, I'm ready to fly.

On silent wings, I swoop swiftly down:
The mouse is soon dead - there's no hanging around!
Deliciously warm and reassuringly fresh
Is the raw meat beneath its pink flesh.

The tiny carcass is a tad smelly,
But, filling up nicely, is my belly;
Whether it's a worm, an insect or vole,
They're all very welcome to help fill a hole.

My victims are taken by complete surprise:
Only a flash of fear flits through their eyes.
On the dimmest of nights, they may think I'm blind,
But, with my considerable senses, a meal I will find.

Hunting by moonlight makes me feel so alive;
I live to hunt, but I hunt to survive.
Feeling comfortably full, happy and blessed,
I return to my roost for a well earned rest.