The wild bright moon emerges from the mist
And adds a color to the vivid autumn scene:
The day with all its reds and yellows turns a little green
On seeing night’s abnormal shadows silver-kissed.
The Screech Owl in the wood across the way
Sounds angry. He, disgusted with things bright,
And never having seen the darkness in this light,
Is sure he slept the clock around, and it is day.
Then it dawns on him slowly, and, shamefaced,
He turns his owlish scowling onto man,
That perverse daylight-loving dolt who can
Sit in his home and let illumination waste.
by Ray Romine Monday, October 15, 1951
