Night Owl



Once you called me changeling,

I suppose you knew my soul long before I did.

The language of the forest and stars has always spilled from me like summer rain.

Searching for my magic staff, counting spells

and chasing winged fairies were my favorite childhood obsessions.

And in the evening when the sun hung low,

you found me with a single candle in hand,

barefoot dancing to music of an orange sky.

Yes you knew this changeling well ~

And in your 97 years, you protected me and kept my safe

as best as you could in a world that was not ready for this conjurer.

Thank You Daddy xo

  • Author: Night Owl (Offline Offline)
  • Published: March 23rd, 2019 21:20
  • Comment from author about the poem: A short tribute to my father and memories of my magical childhood self.
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views:


  • Nicholas Browning

    I quite like this.
    Its mysticism is contrasted by a warmth in words.

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