The village now sleeps <br />amid the shadows <br />of moonlight lit trees. <br />A feather from a night owl <br />flutters and falls, <br />and not even those <br />that sleep on the edge, <br />stir from their dreams. <br /> <br />Something <br />that can only be described <br />as being between <br />a wind and a breeze, <br />blows a wisp of smoke <br />from the chimney <br />of the insomniac. <br /> <br />He shifts in his seat <br />and thinks to himself... <br /> <br />that it sounded <br />like the feather <br />of a night owl falling.<br /><br />Ian Bowen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/night-owl-2/
