Kerfe isn’t back yet, but her owl is.
The air’s aflutter with feathered wings,
And up on the hill a blackbird sings;
The birds are busy with other things
Than dull grey skies,
Anxious eyes,
Time that flies.
Green is greening the rain away,
While night and dusk give way to day,
And in the grass some bright drops stay.
When we must leave, will you recall
The magic of the night owl’s call?
So much to love, I’d keep it all.