In the whispering woods, under moon’s gentle glow,
Owls take their flight, silent as falling snow.
Their eyes, like lanterns, pierce the velvet dark,
Guardians of secrets, in shadows they embark.

Perched high on ancient branches, they keep their watch,
Listening to the night, every rustle and scratch.
Their feathers blend with the night’s deep hue,
Masters of stealth, unseen as they pursue.

In the dance of twilight, their wings spread wide,
Carrying the wisdom of ages, they glide.
Echoes of their call, haunting yet serene,
Tell stories of the night, where they’ve always been.

Oh, mystic owls, with your enigmatic grace,
You roam the starry skies, a timeless chase.
In your silent flight, the night finds its rhyme,
Guardians of the dark, through endless time.