I heard the sad call of an owl, tonight,
ringing clear in the cold, night air.
The hollow, mournful hoot of only one,
whose lonesome voice seemed so full of care.
‘Twas melancholy, yet it was strong,
as it pierced the crisp, quiet dark.
It was a simple, haunting, natural song
as the owl sounded out his mark.
It echoed off of the frost below,
kept company with the pale, winter moon.
It sounded as cool as the snow’s soft glow,
wanting Spring to get here soon.
I listened for a few long moments more,
my breath steaming warm in the cold.
I wanted to answer his sad call with Hope
that the springtime would still promise hold.
That though both owl and I were still alone,
Winter’s grip fades to gentle new starts.
And the warmth of fresh beginnings unknown
would melt the ice around both of our hearts…
~ C.L.R. ~