Winter's chill carpets the land in pristine white,
Even the birds are too cold for flight.
High on a branch, sits an albino fowl;
Wisdom in amber eyes, a snowy owl.
Feather clutched in its deadly beak,
One wonders what words it would speak.
Would it mourn the loss of habitat and stream;
Would it speak softly or end in a scream?
Anger and reproach seem locked in its gaze,
Does it think us fools, or merely crazed?
Ruining the land that supports one and all;
Can there be any doubt we are headed for a fall?
Man was appointed over this land to rule;
Yet it seems he is naught but a bumbling fool.
Destroying all his greedy hands touch;
Even if wildlife need it so much.
I look at the owl, and it stares back at me;
Wishing mankind had such wisdom to see.
Harsh winter has come to this wilderness land;
Yet it seems more gentle than man's vicious hand.
