Mist folding on hilltop, and running downhill,
forms giddying shapes, in a will-o-wisp way,
He stands by a riverbank, watching the thrill
of dog chasing rabbit wherever it may.
Lamp shining with ghostly light over the drills,
ploughed in the soil at the start of the day,
grey-yellow shadows reflecting the Mill,
standing foursquare it was, out of the fray.
Swiftly, she jinks along, just like an eel
flowing through vapour, along and away,
hazy dark views out here hide her clean kill –
He praises her well as she brings him her prey.
The pact that they’ve always had gives him a thrill,
Lurcher and man, with a bond night and day.
Written 25/11/2005. Published in Poetry.com, 2013.
The Night Owl 