short story slam

I saw a silver owl outside my window,
The tree was bare, the trunks show three.
.
Icy leaves, motionless on grass,
shaped as bells of crimson glass.
.
Azure glass and emerald glass tremble,
as I walk pass the place, humble.
.
The owl stood in the tree alone,
and in her beak she clutched a bone.
.
I went up the hill,
the universe was white and still.
.
And there was neither tree nor bird,
and no bell shook and no leaf stirred.