Low Den Hid

Spot the hidden message to my daughter, who patiently listens to my poems as I’m drafting new ones. I know what she’s really thinking.

Nestled in the leaf-lined hollow,
Owl feels warmth on feathered ears,
Misty blanket soon will follow
Once the morning sun appears.
Rest, my friend, your feast is done,
Even an owl must return home.

Prompted by the sinking light
Our nocturnal hunter’s perched –
Elegant wings, silent in flight.
Moon eyes blink – begin their search.
Soon breakfast crawls within his sight.

What ends our day, starts his good night.