the Watcher Above

We shall draw from the heart of suffering itself the means of inspiration and survival.

Sir Winston Churchill

Out in the large, lush green forest
Up high on a tall tree, sits an owl at rest
From getting his broad beak from the hawk
That tired of always being hired to gawk
At the wolves that prowl the farmers fields-

Never blinking, even when wolves prowl
The farmers grounds to make him howl
In pain and loss, leaving a big scowl
On his face for they left the space
His sheep lived in; empty like space.

Since this owl took over, the farmers sheep yields
Have flourished for she watches without blinking.
And at the top of her voice hoots without thinking
To alert the farmer, wolves be here for the killing.

© 2019 The Poets Peace

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