To Fly
The moon is waxing gibbous,
a trick of the eye, of mix.
Watering the owl. Wait a while.
We went where you told us,
now give us what we need.
The wee creature wants to fly.
The air grows colder, it's winter
after all, there's plenty of notice.
Wait a while. Watering the owl.
Listen to the music of the woods,
the tree-tops and the hills beyond.
Maybe a little dance at the end.
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