Owls like to party

The blackest hours fade to day and the days fade to purple skies,

 A rotating spectrum, a wheel of colour which peaks and quickly dies.

Now, wheres the time that you're with its peak or the time you think is days death?

Like owls you love the night, but love the day to rest.

Or maybe like a lark, you sing sweetly in the morn?

You rise in the pinks of dawn but with owls, you feel forlorn.

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed