The Hunt

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The moon’s spinneret secret silver threads

The field mouse dreads

The screech that’s shredding the silent silver night

The feathered feet in flight

Would swoop down with talon eager and gay

To clutch and tear its prey

Making a grand meal of the fateful day

The cold wind howls while the silver corns shiver

Deadly wings ride the wind, circle and hover

The field mouse dreads the feathered feet in flight to clutch and tear its prey

 

 

Posted for dVerse MTB: Unraveling the Ovillejo

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Shared with Poetry Pantry @ Poets United