Vignette At Night (Poetry)

The owls are out in force tonight
they’re wooing in the trees
strange shadows flit from branch to branch
chill winds cough low and wheeze

A gibbous moon rough-rides the clouds
the track runs thin below —
a stony path for cart and horse
where gypsies come and go

A figure looms and footsteps plod
their progress slow along
this cut between cold sleeping fields
and hedges darkly-sprung

A wary fox yaps near a gate
a vixen answers keen
the night is listening for signs
most shapes too vaguely seen

The stranger stops and lights his pipe
puffs pungent herbal shag
his hunter’s instinct primed by need
to fill his empty bag

The owls and foxes spy the man
each one in search of prey
a watchful moon informs the breeze
so small things creep away