Ode To the Owl

Verdant fields submit their hues to the rime, She hangs in his stead with a soft glow. Wild things of this land find refuge in the pine Hoarfrost gathers where the owl goes. “In silent flight, the night blinds the fright, from the gliding grasp, clasped from hiding. Never knowing, but ever showing how The owl can have sight so keen and Preened coat of white.” The owl and winter seem to come as one. Does my fortune hold so little? Perhaps my purpose lies in servitude Offering myself to such a beast If a beast at all.