The Owl
The owl hunts
In the night
Watching,
Waiting,
For a chance
To jump on
A mouse
A bat
Anything
Small like that.
He is silent,
Wise, and old,
Kills in the dark
In the cold
He sits high up,
In a tree.
I look at him
He looks at me.
Yellow eyes,
Feathered ears
Sees in the dark
He has no fears.
I watch him fly
Swooping away
And thank God
I'm not his prey.
by Georgia VanDerwater
Hope drew this owl for my dad for Christmas. I saw it hanging in our dining room and decided to write a poem about it. I hope you like it!
I am so proud to have this picture hanging on our wall. And what a spine-tingly mood this poem creates. Until the last line, it makes me feel like a mouse.
ReplyDeleteI love the poem and picture! Very spooky, though I've always liked owls. I wish we saw them in the city...
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ReplyDeleteThis reminds me of the other night when Libby woke up and we were snuggling together when we heard the hoot of an owl. We were excited to have the chance to hear it but sad because we were sure the little bunny under the garage was probably having a bad night. Great poem and terrific art girls!!!
ReplyDeleteDear Hope and Gigi,
ReplyDeleteI love your poems and artwork! I'm so glad that your Mom put your blog on facebook so I can follow it. Now I will be reading poems by THREE VanDerwater authors :-)