I’ve always felt an affinity with owls. My home is close to a historic park in Upper Norwood (a suburb of Greater London). From time to time, I hear the owls’ eerie cry, which brings to mind thoughts of my own mortality, coupled with the death of King Duncan in Macbeth.
I have lain awake listening for the owl’s cry.
A note that chills
Thrills
Then does die.
One day
This bird of prey
Will carry my soul away,
Or so the supersticious say.
Mice hide
While I, in my pride
Decide
The owl’s erie cry
Signifies that I will die.
The bird has no interest in me
So why can I not be free
From his cry
That to my window nigh
does rise, then, as suddenly, die?
K Morris - Poet 