The Burrowing Owl

MY blinkety owlet atop of your mound, Is your mate tucked away in a hole in the ground? You bare-footed gnome in your striped suit of dun, With your fluffy white babies that bask in the sun!

See her bobbing and blinking As if she were thinking Of the poor lady cricket That chirps in the thicket!

With a snap and a chatter Mrs. Owlet is at her, And whisk! she is beaten And crunched up and eaten!-- That poor lady cricket That chirped in the thicket!

My blinkety owlet, go down in your hole, And sleep in your nest like a squirrel or mole! Who’d think that a bird could have toes for a trowel To grub in the ground like a burrowing owl!