She sits in a spindly lane-side tree,
Plump and delightfully pompous,
Chest feathers

A crescent moon shines a milky light,
a mysterious dance on the face of night.
More eloquent as

freezing fog -
the tawny owls
are mute

A narrow tarmac ribbon rises, dips,
curls through a russet carpet of leaves.
Deep ditches either

Hope in our heart is a treasure
we share in our waking dreams
and it's served by our mind.