From the density of branches
Peer gleaming, quiet eyes
A soft hoot from beneath, mentioned
No louder than a sigh
On velvet wings, with strings of silver
A whoosh of beauty goes
Lands on a tree branch set a quiver
Its plumage in the breeze lightly blows
Feathers, iridescent, strike awe into the fields
This pretty raptor finds herself, from below
Enraptured to furry creature who to her talons yield
The last words they whisper: “Notre Dame, L’Jolie Hibou!”
This poem is about the deadliness of beauty. Sometimes we are so distracted by what we see, or rather what we think we see in someone or something, that--like the furry meals eaten by the owl--we are unable to escape the deadly talons.