LISTENING
Stark cold January night;
all the world is somnolent
but for shrouded echoes
of the screech owl.
High in a skeletal elm
he calls his strident warning
to his prey. “I am here
to hunt – beware!”
I have been advised by Pay Pal that this poem has been adjudged a winner and awarded the grand sum of $5 by Folded World. I can't even remember entering it, but the money is now in my bank account. What shall I spend it all on ??
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