The Owl

The Owl sat motionless and gazed
from the limb of a dead tree.
Lonely, hungry and now forlorn,
nothing came easy, since he was born,
or I should say hatched
for he finally had met his match.
She swooped in; she knows this place
and next to him, got in his face.
I am the ruler of this broad hood,
make sure that is now understood.
He nodded, in an acceptable way
and thought not to leave but to stay.
There soon would be Owlets to feed;
he was a hunter filling the need.