The owl waits within the ancient tree,
Forever watchful, wrapped in shadowed wings.
All secret things are his alone to see,
And he alone knows what the twilight brings.

His yellow eyes perceive the hopping toad,
And sense the nestling of the smallest mouse;
With screeching bats he shares his cold abode,
And he is master of the midnight house.

From chimney-top to gable’s pointed peak,
The phantom swoops, eclipsing moon and star.
Without your window, he will perch to peek
Through rustling curtains dreams have left ajar….

He sings a song of prophecy and pain,
And hidden wisdom known unto the witch—
All those who hear the owl’s weird refrain
With Nyx’s treasures will at last grow rich.

[K. A. Opperman is a poet and artist residing in Southern California. He is the author of such books as Past the Glad and Sunlit Season: Poems for Halloween, and October Ghosts and Autumn Dreams: More Poems for Halloween, both of which were published by Jackanapes Press. His art can be found both on Facebook and Instagram, under the handle @OpperArt. While not writing or drawing, he can usually be found in his garden, growing pumpkins.]