Author Kenneth Rexroth Screech owls moan in the yellowing Mulberry trees. Field mice scurry, Preparing their holes for winter. Midnight, we cross an old battlefield. The moonlight shines cold on white bones. Tags Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 Average: 5 (1 vote) Rate Log in or register to post comments