The Rage of the Barred Owl 

The Rage of the Barred Owl When Moon unmasks your naked face And gilds your gun with diamonds green I mark your progress from afar. You stumble toward my roosting place, Studying your tiny screen, Tracking  an  artificial star. You killed my wife some dawns ago, Fooled by your telescopic sight: She was a Northern More

Source: The Rage of the Barred Owl – CounterPunch.org

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