The Owl

I wonder what the white owl thinks Up in our old pine tree When he calls, "Whoo-oo!" and softly winks And stares straight down at me.

The garden grows so quiet then There's no sound but his cry; My father says the owl thinks, "When— Will a little mouse come by?"

My father says he thinks, "O where— Have the young grey squirrels run? There's not a weazel—not a hare Beneath this setting sun!"

Well, probably that's what he thinks Up in the dark pine tree, When he calls, "Who-oo!" and softly winks And watches silently.

He's just a pirate, made with wings, And he dotes on pirate deeds— But I wish he only wanted things Like beans——or sunflower seeds.