Barn Owl Poem by Sheila Sharpe

He sees all manner of things
from his avian perch
in the middle of the little wood
that sudden movement
in dew spangled grass
of a fox, jaws stained with blood
that tiny mouse with velvet fur
sheltering in the oak tree roots
that brother owl in a nearby tree
that answers him hoot for hoots
his large eyes watch
with unblinking gaze
counting hours from dusk
to dawn's first light
his alien avian face is a
half seen blur of ghostly white
then, all of a sudden,
in a silent sweeping
across the clearing he wings
the beams of a million suns and moons
to his wide banded feathers clings
and, then, in a sudden silent dive
enough to stop a watching human's breath
he spears with his beak a tiny vole
in a master class swoop of death
then back to his roost
in his sentinel post
he is once more the Guardian of night
who is silent in pose, silent of voice
and the master of noiseless flight