Close creeps the darkness and its chill,
Gets inside these old joints and bone.
A strong wind moans at the young owl's skill,
As he swoops down to the killing zone.
The mere scrap of a mouse has lost his life;
To feed the hungry bird, what perfection
Nature is and yet cruel in its strife.
The Mother gives and takes lives without reflection.
Our Mother Nature is light and dark;
But was always balanced before man's interference.
In the distance, the farm dogs' noisy bark,
Makes me wonder what is out there, the inference
Being someone has disturbed the canines.
Tucked up in bed, I feel safe and warm.
The noisy barks fade to quiet whines.
I settle down to sleep, feeling far from harm.
Yet something fearful stalks the night.
The owl hoots out his warning;
But it is not until it is fully light,
I learn of the night's dreadful haunting.
They call her the lady in white.
On cold, misty nights she walks the moor;
Looking for her lost children, she seeks out the light,
At any window, she moans and allows tears to pour
Down fair cheeks, but with eyes like burning coal.
Some folk swear they have seen this ghastly ghost;
But I maintain my sceptic's soul,
With a locked door as I eat my cereal and toast.