On 17 March 2012 I wrote about the owl which haunts my garden and the nearby park. His voice is mournful but also provides company for those who, like me hear his song. In the below poem the English poet, Edward Thomas hears in the bird’s cry the sufferings of soldiers and the poor who (unlike Thomas) lack the comfort of good food and a warm bed.
For my previous post “My Friend the Owl” please visit http://kevin-morris.co.uk/2012/03/17/my-friend-the-owl/. Thomas’s poem follows
“Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved;
Cold, yet had heat within me that was proof
Against the North wind; tired, yet so that rest
Had seemed the sweetest thing under a roof.
Then at the inn I had food, fire, and rest,
Knowing how hungry, cold, and tired was I.
All of the night was quite barred out except
An owl’s cry, a most melancholy cry
Shaken out long and clear upon the hill,
No merry note, nor cause of merriment,
But one telling me plain what I escaped
And others could not, that night, as in I went.
And salted was my food, and my repose,
Salted and sobered, too, by the bird’s voice
Speaking for all who lay under the stars,
Soldiers and poor, unable to rejoice.”