In the trees over yonder
Where yellow dahlias linger
And bright blue finches
Flit from bush to branch
And branch to eave
There is an owls nest that grieves
In the night’s dark shadows
In the deep indigos of morning
After foxes have returned to their lairs
And coyots still prowl and hunt

It grieves in long mournful cries
Sounding in the empty winding spaces
That jog between oak, maple and walnut
Bush and low hanging limb
That would almost be a path
Were it not for the brush and thorns
That obstruct easy passage

It grieves like my soul
Lost in this morning’s sweetness
Unable to share it with you