T\'was in the hour of the owl,
the moon has set.
Rising the darkness to vow,
Hearing the wind with its breath.
Surviving the days,
of which looking like a haze.
Clinging and grasping,
to the hope that has been hanging.
She looked through,
and she came back.
She stayed and she lasts.
The days she survived, she adapts.
Turning the haze to the light,
of where it rages as the sun fires.