A Rhyme Royal for the dverse prompt this evening. Prompted by the sound of hunting owls, so loud at nightfall here.
Image ©Art Siegel
The first stars wake in autumn evening’s sky,
The sun has set long since, and hushed the air,
Beneath the earth, the night-touched creatures lie,
And wait for dark to leave their hidden lair.
The weeping in the house, too hard to bear,
I listen, ’neath the stars as darkness spreads,
And shiver at owl’s cry, what each heart dreads.
The moving finger stops above the roof,
Feathered portent perches high and screams.
We quail, as if we needed no more proof,
Our worst fears come to roost above the beams,
Death walks among the shadows, so it seems.
But in the east, moonrise casts golden light,
A smile, a sigh, death will not come tonight.