What about the hoo’ing owl
Makes us think she’s wise?
The way she’s perched on arms of trees,
Is it those big brown eyes?

The hoo is muffled, silent call,
No ostentatious claim,
We hear it under starry nights,
Alike the crackling flame.

Not one, not two, but three part hoo,
Has brought me out of sleep,
What have you seen,
O Midnight Owl,
Whose fellowship you keep?

Your life is lived amongst the trees,
With speed you burn through sky,
But now you’re resting by my home,
You’ve chosen not to fly.

And I commend you for this pause,
It seems you’ve had your fill,
No longer soaring,
eyes cast down,
Looking for mice to kill.

So what about the hoo’ing owl,
Makes us think she’s wise?
Perhaps she spends time watching humans,
Noting our demise.

To be at night under the moon,
Not needing more to live,
Your subdued hoo has brought me joy,
Your gift of peace to give.