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.