While on my stroll I heard a hoot.
Wait, scratch that,
I’d better take aim before I shoot.
Im not yearning for a splat.
Im on the hunt for something a bit more satisfying.
The kind of flavor that doesn’t call for dying.
The delicious taste of words rolling off the lips
Is akin to the beauty of a night owl’s feather tips.
Wings carry the being effortlessly through the night
Just as pen and paper fuel my words to take flight
As my words spill into the void,
I’m as free as the owl, overjoyed.
About the Creator
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