The Tired Owl's Night

In forest deep, where shadows creep, The moon, a pearl, her vigil keep.

Old Hoot, the owl, with feathers brown, Flew from his tree, up and down. He blinked his eyes, a weary sight, "Too much darkness," he groaned, "tonight!"

He swooped and swerved, a silent grace, Hunting for mice in this leafy place. A tiny squeak, a rustle low, Dinner secured, watch owl go!

He perched upon an ancient oak, And watched the stars as softly spoke. Each twinkling light, a whispered tale, Of cosmic dust and starry trail.

The forest creatures, small and shy, Peeped from their burrows, passing by. The rabbits hopped, the foxes sneaked, While Hoot the owl, their secrets peeked.

He pondered deep, with feathered head, The moon's soft glow, the words unsaid. He felt the breeze, a gentle hand, Understanding things of forest land.

But weary wings began to droop, As morning light began to troop. The sun peeked through the leafy roof, A golden thread, a welcome proof.

So Hoot the owl, with heavy sigh, Flew back to nest, beneath the sky. He closed his eyes, his duty done, Until the night, for everyone.