With feathers aged like parchment, eyes like amber gems,
Hoocrates alights, where timeworn wisdom stems.
No creature of impulse, nor hunter swift and bold,
But keeper of knowledge, stories yet untold.
Through ancient ruins, etched with memories deep,
It glides on silent wings, secrets for those who seek.
Its voice, a resonant hum, through crumbling walls it rings,
Unraveling riddles, of forgotten kings.
But beneath the feathers, a spirit vast and wise,
Holds echoes of ages, reflected in its eyes.
For Hoocrates remembers, the dawn of time’s first spark,
When knowledge flickered, leaving its indelible mark.
So approach with reverence, and step with thoughtful stride,
Respect the silence, where forgotten truths reside.
Offer not plunder, but a thirst for ancient lore,
And Hoocrates’ wisdom, might open history’s door.
With riddles whispered, on moonlit, dusty air,
It tests your intellect, to see if truth you dare.
For Hoocrates’ knowledge, isn’t easily claimed,
It seeks a worthy mind, with passion unashamed.
Then, in the dance of shadows and starlight’s grace,
The owl unveils its secrets, time etched on its face.
It shares the stories, of empires lost and won,
Of heroes long forgotten, beneath the setting sun.
And as the stars ignite, painting the sky anew,
Hoocrates returns, to its perch of ageless hue.
But in your heart, its wisdom will remain,
A bridge to the past, whispering through the rain.
So close your eyes, beneath the starlit dome,
Let Hoocrates’ spirit, guide you back to your own home.
For in the depths of time, where secrets softly gleam,
The owl of wisdom, forever watches your dream.