Through Windows
There was sometimes a telegraph pole,
Once I looked out and saw a shadow
of a huge owl sat against the darkening blue,
I only saw him as he took off suddenly.
Now there's trees, or cars, or sheep,
What to focus on; the tall lampposts,
Do we like to see the stars and comets
From attic window sky-lights.
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It's dark and we're pretending we're not home,
It's quiet but we're expecting trouble.
My superstitious heart wishes something,
But I sit and watch the gathering night,
Ignoring it's mumbling and
Remembering brightly lit faces,
Laughter and in the far away spaces of memory,
Simple happiness, just silliness and joy.
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