Dragons in the Gum Tree Grove

The Frost

“Frost killed some pepper plants last night,”
you say.  “Their leaves are black and limp.”
I say, “The moon and stars were bright.
It was a night for making love.”
“The owl,” you say, “complained of damp
and cold.  I heard him whine and grieve
for his arthritic wings.”  “I heard
him too.  I thought he'd missed a mouse.”
“He did.  The mouse was glad to live
a little longer, but the bird
was mortified that he had missed
an easy kill.”  “The peppers froze?”
“Yes.  I think this spring's the last.”
“Last what?”  “Last spring the old owl has.”

Next Poem:  Night Distrubance

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Updated last on:  2001/06/03