A Room in the Pines
Only once have I ever seen a white owlAnd only once did it look down at me
With something that was clearly not fear
And more like the disdain with which one
Dismisses another who is beneath him,
One to whom there is nothing to be said
Beyond simply rising up and taking leave
In an unfolding of wings something like
A maid lifting a little the crisp white sheet
Over the bed, plumping the feathered pillow.
Poetry by countryfog
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Written on 2011-01-22 at 17:23
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Lawrence Beck |