Owl Hooked Poem by Patrick Dennis

A barb-hooked brown rag hangs
from the top wire of my boundary fence.
it flutters and twists though the windmill is still
in the soft equilibrium of dusk.

Ah, but it lives! and would tear my hand at a touch.
Gloved, I untangle it, and it flaps earthbound
pathetically off into my neighbour's long grass
probably to die of a wing so woven round
it can no more beat down the night air.

Owls should hold to their proper time and place
and fly high clear of where I edge and join.
Here the air tears and cuts off;
it snags and twists down flight.