The Owls Wisdom Poem by Edward Webb

The famous sound that comes in summer,
the chorus that comes with each morn,

not where your hear this calling, welcoming the stars in all nights form,
a bird though it is, owns a call that is loudest heard,
for no other song by beak is sung as is this raptorial birds,

so unchallenged the hooting and twooing are eerily in dark heard,

of the stealth winged owl calling,
not shown to our eyes but by ears heard,

a song not for days calling,
but solo sung to the even black,

draped in the silver shimmers of night,
from oaks confidently unknowingly sat.

showing her wisdom come dawn,
when the tweets to the east signal daylight,

unique in her wisdom, not like majority,
and on eastern blush,
takes to roost on her silent wing,
and waits for the quit of the dusk