In the still of the Night,
Owl shifts her flight
--a smell of wrongness in the air--
and heads for her Pine
to ponder this Sign:
leaving Mouse to quizzically stare...

Within the night of darkest moon
-- as winter slow retreats --
I hear the wings of Elder Owl,
like sighs of August wheat;
She hunts this night of darkest moon
for prey of Dark design...
I hear her Song of Victory
thrice echoed in my Mind.

Horn-ed Owl of the Light
Spirit-song within the Night
Take me with you on your Flight
and let us dance...