Lonely Snow

I’m listening to one’s hallowed hooting
While the night’s cutting breeze shifts on further,
Though the noise suggests not one observer
But I won’t search or lose my footing.

Damn this cold who’s denied my wonderings!
To never know to what extent
What your cavalcades of hooting meant,
I’m bound to pout with my curt ponderings.

I hope the owl is not one but two
For calling in spite of others near,
Or the yearn of one so far yet dear
Is not a winter I wish for you.

Two tones call out in hallowed winds now 
To never perch on the others bow.