​The owl watches
watches in the night
eyes wide open
drinking in the light

watching its prey
from high on its perch
deathly quiet
a vigilant search

Taking to wing
a fine feathered stealth
dropping on prey
a coup de grace dealt

Drinking warm blood
from living chalice
a throat to live
absence of malice

When nothing is left
but feather and bone
back to the trees
where it hunts alone

M. Zane McClellan

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