Upon the velvet cloak of night, There flits a shape in moonlit flight. With amber eyes, fierce and wise, The owl surveys the earthly prize. In ancient woodland, gnarled and deep, Where whispers through the branches seep, He reigns, a silent guardian there, A monarch of the midnight air.
His feathers soft as twilight’s breath, A phantom of the forest’s depth. He calls, a haunting song of old, A hymn to life, both brave and bold. Oh owl, the keeper of the lore, A creature steeped in ancient yore. You haunt our dreams and stir our hearts, A masterpiece of nature’s arts.
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