In their swarms they come,
people of another world, another time.
I sit here, by a playful waterfall,
hidden in a mossy nook,
and I watch them act out a fantasy,
of living in my timeless world.
The air is filled with their modern sounds,
jazzy noises from radios blaring.
A cacophony of voices calling, and
no part of the peace I call my life.
And pity fills me for all they miss
and, patiently, I await their goodbyes.
Soon, in my hidden niche, I see
the swarms pack up and slowly leave.
And peace returns for one more day, though,
as a jay calls to its mate with strident voice,
I wait, then, once again today, hear
the babbling sound of my stream.
Written 2009. Published with Poetry.com., 2013.
The Night Owl 