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Poems
by Charles
Jobson
>
Midnight skies
It is not a
common thing
to see an owl in a broken down barn.
Nature saves her rare beauties
for when we do not scorn at what she
has created.
One night,
far long ago,
I was that privileged person
as I waited restlessly for
the Harvest Room.
The storm
clouds broke
and a small pipestrelle bat appeared
it seemed from out of nowhere.
It was not
like Mercury,
a messenger from the
Gods,
it was the quiet world
rewarding us
for a gentle and not
mocking patience.
© Charles Jobson. For permission to re-use contact godfrey@wordsout.co.uk.
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