The owls feathers, as delicate as a china vase,

It’s golden-crusted beak, hanged down like a dripping dagger,

It’s eyes like a never ending universe,

It’s cold-hearted claws, ripped out the flesh of it’s prey,

The fierce, forlorn feet were ready to fight,

It’s winged flapped into the starry sky,

It’s flexible neck, swirled as it tap dances to the nest.