Midnight death on silent wing,
Melding of shadow and
Sentinel wrapped in wilderness old,
beautiful savage of
Saffron globes with obsidian holes,
Probing for flesh
Far down below.
Inquiring voice singed with lonesome tone,
Whispers terror to whiskered ones
Clear to the bone.
But the questions you ask eternal and now,
bring peace and content for
Those you don’t prowl.
Whom do you call with notes of velvet and rain,
Why do you hide as
Sol breaks the plane?
To whom do you kneel and lower your glare,
Is there none of creation to
Challenge your air?
Nocturnal monarch and lord of the nethers,
Pulsing oak throne and
raiment of feathers.
Dusk is your primer and dawn your repose,
So ‘til twilight again edges
Rest well great bubo.