The owls are the guardians of the moon
As they stand with composure, serenity, and grace
Keeping the forsaken moon company
Red and purple meteors crashing before them
But they are not afraid
They are blessed
Confined in their solitariness
Not another being for thousands of miles
They stand as still as a rock
They wait
Coldness hugs their feathered bodies
But they still feel warm
As they are the ones who get to look after the tender moon
The black sun shines upon them
The guardians don’t feel alone
Instead, they feel great gratitude to be able to care
For something so precious and gentle
They sit
For they know that they are needed
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