the owl
listens for its prey
perched
on a branch above the ground
as
daylight starts to fade away
a mole
begins to move around
while
borrowing without a sound
beneath
the freshly fallen snow
and
suddenly the bird swoops down
its
talons strike a deadly blow
a mighty
grip that won’t let go
with
nothing ever left to chance
the owl
isn’t lying low
and soon
returns back to the branch
the
winner of this deadly dance
but as
the dawn replaces night
the bird
now takes a different stance
and
quickly chooses to take flight
in
seconds it is out of sight
leaving
feathered imprints far below
reminders
of the deadly fight
delicate
impressions in the snow
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