Owl 9

I’ve been writing a lot of owl poems lately, almost reached thirteen. This is today’s. For December, the weather is frighteningly warm.


December days

of butterflies

and dragonflies

while lizard lies

basking in the sun.

Haws of maraschino

orange of oak

marcescent leaves


ashen now

by the light of the moon

they flutter


as the wing feathers

of an owl.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

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