Silvery spectator sheds touch of light
Tranquil forest green, black, white,
Snow settles down, Not a sound,
On this crisp, winter, night.

Like the snow, white and silent,
An owl hunts its prey,
A hungry hare looks up by chance,
Is struck by fright,
He cannot get away.

So unlucky was this glance,
To see impending doom.
There is no time for thought of flight,
Forever will that final sight
Be owl's snowy plume.