In the still of the night, under the full moon’s rise,

Barely visible, he sits with ease, perched in the trees,

Neck 180, Listening to the incantations of the breeze,

Interpreting them as he hoots to the music of the leaves.

With its calls, tells a story, of the moon and trees,

A messenger of secrets and forest mysteries,

A keeper of wisdom, a seer of latent secrets of the past,

He flies with the darkness, a shadow that’s cast.

The trees bow to him, as he meditates and waits,

A sentinel of the forest, a guardian of fate,

He Listens in Samaa; learns, from the rustling and sighs,

Of the creatures below him, as they go about their lives.

So if you hear an owl, in the depths of the night,

Take a moment to listen, to the secrets he might,

For he is a messenger, of the magic and wonder,

Of the latent worlds that surround us, the tales they offer.

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