Consonance in W

I stepped out on the lanai before 5:30 a.m., 63 degrees, bright white quarter moon in the sky.  Breathed in.  Prayed.  Came back in and read the poem "Owl Calls," and was taken with the quiet whispers of the W's in the poem.  It is not my intention to make this a blog of found poetry, but I couldn't help it.  Here is another found poem.

Consonance in W

white sweep

wood gate

across the quiet field

two white owls glide

toward the woods

fresh wet grass

water color sky washed

first whispering of old poem

outlined by quiet