wordsout from Cafe Church · poems by Charles Jobson ←→ · home
It is not a
to see an owl in a broken down barn.
Nature saves her rare beauties
for when we do not scorn at what she has created.
far long ago,
I was that privileged person
as I waited restlessly for
the Harvest Room.
and a small pipestrelle bat appeared
it seemed from out of nowhere.
It was not
a messenger from the Gods,
it was the quiet world rewarding us
for a gentle and not mocking patience.