Where were you last eve
before the dark, the sky?
Where were your coloured banners
waving wands of soothing dreams?
Behind the gathered banks of cloud
dimming last light and the afterglow
we watched in vain
for shadow leap of deer;
no loping run of hare
no startled eyes outstared the gloom
just unadulterated pitch
unstitched with stars.
Wind blows still among the leaves
and shrill the voices of frail songbirds
not bringing hope of better days
but through the misty haze of rain
fall vibrating echoes of the call
of constant owls
hunting for the moon.