A walker passes through a churchyard where the dead lie buried "in good clothes," a small, oddly tender detail that makes them feel less like names on stones and more like people dressed for an occasion. Then comes an owl's call, which the speaker has heard before ("again"). The poem ends with a quiet choice: "and do not look."
That refusal is the heart of it. Looking might break the spell, or it might mean facing something the speaker would rather leave alone. An owl at a graveyard carries old associations with death and omens, and the title's pun, "Superb owl, bad call," adds a flash of dry humor that sits beside the solemnity. The poem seems to hold both: a wry lightness and a real unease.
The mood is hushed and watchful. The speaker doesn't flee or fuss. They keep walking, aware of the dead and the unseen bird, and choose to let the mystery stay a mystery.