Shrouded in green, the night unfolds,
A lone owl perches, silent and bold.
Upon the sill it keeps its place,
A ghost of dreams in shadowed grace.

It lost its way in the hush of pain,
Where solitude falls like autumn rain.
Yet once it soared in morning's dew,
A child of sky with wings so new.

Now fireflies blink like fleeting sighs,
It watches on with aching eyes.
Not afraid of wind’s wild moan,
But of silence that cuts to the bone.

As dusk slips into winter’s arm,
Homes awaken with hearthstone charm.
But the owl, with memories deep,
Sings broken songs it cannot keep.

Yet something stirs—some breath, some fire,
A rhythm born of lost desire.
Its wings now quiver, alive with song,
To chase a dawn it’s yearned for long.

Before the light can kiss the sea,
It flies where only hearts roam free.
It leaves its sins by the water’s side,
And takes to skies with silent pride.