Owls
Charles Baudelaire
Under black yews that protect them
The owls perch in a row
Like alien gods whose red eyes
Glitter. They meditate.
Petrified, they will perch there till
The melancholy hour
When the slanting sun is ousted,
And darkness settles down.
From their posture, the wise
Learn to shun, in this world at least,
Motion and commotion.
Impassioned by passing shadows
Man will always be scourged
For trying to change his place.
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