The stars are blinking round our cabin site.
As dusk arrives, I hear you, hooting owl.
Amid the leaves there winks a full moon bright:
It shimmers silver light upon your scowl.
You, haughty bird sit high atop your perch
and slowly turn a head with lowered lids.
Your talons grip the branch with firmer touch:
With condescending mask your wisdom’s hid.
Oh, wing`ed creature; wondrous with mystique!
Man has, for centuries, defined you so
for such sardonic vigilance you keep,
nor bow to man’s designing depths below.
We do, in your most magic, shuttered eyes
delight in some strange omen you disguise.