2:17

Four times my distant forlorn owl softly calls
after a long absence.

 

Her voice is muffled

outside the walls and windows of my home.

 

I  hurriedly rise up from bed
out into the dim night,

and stand cold and hunched on porch
with arms wrapped ’round myself for warmth

and search and listen
for her further calls in vain,

 

only hearing the sound of dripping water
upon unseen sodden wet leaves
and its trickling along with my resolve to stay.

 

For whether she sits
back turned towards me beyond my sight
somewhere close in this dim night,

or whether she has flown away;

she leaves me uncertain.

 

Will we meet again?

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