by Allyson Sbazo
I become the owl, feeling so free.
I feel the rough branch ‘tween talons strong;
Cool night air blows ‘cross miles long.
On this eve I want to be
The moment, the joy, simply me.
Animal instincts, never wrong,
Lead flawlessly to bird song.
Sacrifice, it is the key.
For one to live, another must die.
That is the way of nature, we know,
And owl is nature, without compare.
She hunts and kills but never asks why.
Only to eat to survive, she will show
No mercy at all to the hare.
neosalexandria 