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.
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