The Watcher Within
In the gathering dusk,
by Mary Naylor
His face is peaceful and urbane.
Below him he watches a shadowy husk,
Its movements, both bumbling and inane.
Like a mask thrown down,
Suddenly, his eyes widen and glow.
His features gather into a frown.
Like wind-rippled leaves, his body begins to flow.
Somehow the victim senses him,
And panicked, bumps into things.
Which way to go? The light is so dim.
It is danger that the blackness brings!
Finally, free of all masks,
The watcher springs and leaps!
Ah, now he has his prey, and he basks,
Then they crash into amorphous heaps.
A voice cries out, 'What is that? '
He is silent, suave, his mouth rimmed with froth,
But someone answers, 'Strawberry, our cat,
Has caught and eaten another moth.'