An Owl's Maternal Calls

An Owl’s Maternal Call As the white fog Lifts this heavy morning, Above the arctic soaking terrain Orbs of wonder dot the bottom As the results of the life that thrives Down below where it is cold. I just am in awe of Nature’s beautiful Tapestry that lives Below the ice. Only do I wish She wouldn’t make My rickety old bones creek. In the distance A hawk’s screech Is heard, Her child as well hears Her maternal call. No restaurant On nature’s block, We all have to Hunt for our food. Whoa! To the weak And meek on surviving In the wilderness. I draw dry breaths Of frigid air as Mother Nature’s hand Takes mine and leads me Through the pathway Of survival.