Night-Time Hunter

Poem By Kathleen Cooper

In the stillness of the night
The owls hoot strikes the air,
Warning the woodland creatures
The owl hunts, so beware,
Camouflaged by the branches
In the tree top high,
He scans the woodland grasses
For a meal that might pass by.

The owl has a family waiting
In a tumbled-down barn wall,
And while the owl is hunting
They wait there for his call.

Then swiftly as an arrow,
And claws like sharpened steel,
The owl swoops down into the grass
He's caught the evening meal,
Perhaps a rabbit, or a vole,
Which dared to venture out,
Will make a tasty supper
For the baby owls, no doubt.

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