The Owl

Owl

 

There is disguise

In his plump round shape.

Those gold coin eyes

Look thick with honey lassitude,

But within that sofa pillow

There plays a crass etude:

The song of whetting knives.

The outer figure is a judge

That determines termination of lives.

The frame beneath is hawk

That disburses nature’s justice

Without mercy, without balk.

 

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