In the hush of the mountain air,
A snowy owl keeps vigil there.
Perched on a weathered, fallen log,
Wrapped in stillness, mist, and fog.
Branches scatter like broken rhyme,
Trees stand watch in ancient time.
Rocks lie cold beneath the sky,
As winter breathes a gentle sigh.
And in that quiet, silver space,
The owl holds the world in place—
A single note of wild grace,
Soft as snowfall, fierce as night.
