16 October

  If I were an owl, flying high,
  what would I think, what would I think if I
  saw me* dancing, dancing
  high on a hill, alone in the dark,
  under a star-filled sky?

  If I were an owl hunting for mice, so crunchy, so sweet,
  what would I think, what would I think if I
  heard me singing, singing
  high on a hill, alone in the dark,
  under a star-bright sky?

          'No moon! No moon!' I might cry, if I
          were an owl, 'She can't be a witch
          for there's no moon,
          she's too many clothes,
          she's got no broom,
          and she can't fly!

          If I were an owl and I heard me sing, singing a song
          in a tongue unknown, I would sing too,
          and my wordless song would come echoing back
          from the nearby hills to me dancing, dancing
          there on the starlit track.

          If I were an owl, soaring high, what would I see?
          What I would see, if I saw me, is a fat old lady
          in too many clothes (it's cold enough, tha certainly knows)
          doing her thing, with a light-full heart,
          under a star-filled sky

              *If you are confused about who
              is the owl and who is 'me' I can
              only say: it's OK, you're meant to be.


© Copyright 1995 by Jessica Macbeth. All rights reserved.
This poem was first published in Earth's Daughter (see book list)
Your comments will be read with interest.
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