A Hunter Bold

An owl, in his solitary state,
Sits motionless and yet,
He's watching with an expert eye,
For the arrival of sunset.

Throughout the night he'll hunt for food,
Swift and silently he flies,
Beneath the branches thick with leaves,
And then across the moonlit skies.

He is a very wise old bird,
Content to sit and wait,
For creatures scurrying in the undergrowth,
Something tasty for his supper plate.

With saucer feathered eyes, and a mottled breast,
He reigns, in his patch, supreme,
A dream in flight, a hunter bold,
A schemer with a cunning scheme.

poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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