Melancholic Lamentation of the Night Owl

In the black forest, where the trees doth loom
And the moon doth shine upon the leafy glade,
There doth an owl hoot, with a mournful tune
That echoes through the night, and doth invade
The very souls of those who hear his cry,
For it is a cry of sorrow and despair.

In the still of the night, when all is mute
And the world doth slumber in peaceful repose,
The owl doth cry, with a voice so acute
That it doth pierce the silence, and expose
The very essence of the black forest's soul,
For it is a cry of sorrow and despair.

And yet, as I ponder upon the owl's cry,
I cannot help but wonder at its meaning,
For it doth seem to speak of a deep-seated sigh
That doth come from the heart of the forest, leaning
Towards some ancient wisdom, that doth lie
In the very depths of the owl's sorrow and despair.

For what doth the owl know, that we do not?
What secrets doth he keep, hidden in the night?
What ancient wisdom doth he hold, that doth rot
In the very heart of the black forest, in spite
Of our attempts to understand and unravel,
The very essence of the owl's sorrow and despair?

Perchance, it is the very nature of life,
That doth cause the owl to cry in such a way,
For life is but a fleeting thing, rife
With sorrow and despair, that doth sway
The very soul of all living things,
Including the owl, who doth cry in the black forest.

And so, as I listen to the owl's cry,
I cannot help but feel a sense of awe,
For it doth speak of a wisdom that doth lie
In the very heart of the black forest, that doth gnaw
At the very essence of our being, and doth tie
Us all to the eternal cycle of sorrow and despair.

Thus, let us listen to the owl's cry,
And let us ponder upon its meaning,
For it doth speak of a truth that doth lie
In the very heart of the black forest, revealing
The very essence of our existence, and doth sigh
In the eternal cycle of sorrow and despair.