A crackle of leaves rushes down the lane,
Twitching ears shift to seek the blame.
For cover’s hard to find among the sage,
Between lonely pine, and poplars beige.
We’ve traveled far towards our doom,
As we seek the rising moon.
A watcher hunts us, between rock and root,
Beware, beware the owl’s hoot.
Michael is a husband, father, writer, poet, and aspiring author. He finds time to scribble down his thoughts in the dead of night, between ghosts and night owls. If you’d like to read more of his poetry follow the link here. Or to visit his full blog, ‘The Ink Owl’ click here.