Beneath the silver moon’s soft glow,
In forests deep where secrets flow,
The owls take flight on silent wing,
Their haunting call, a mystic ring.

Eyes like orbs of ancient lore,
They pierce the night, they seek, explore,
With feathers brushed by twilight’s hand,
They reign supreme o’er shadowed land.

Guardians of the dusk and dawn,
With wisdom old, from times long gone,
Their presence whispers through the trees,
A symphony of midnight breeze.

In quiet moments, they appear,
A silhouette both proud and clear,
Owls, the keepers of the night,
In moonlit realms, they take their flight.