I am pretty sure you are a feathered balloon.
Eff you, o 'owl' (if that is your real name)
with your slanting white eyebrows
bright within the willow thicket.
I see little evidence of your much-vaunted wisdom,
o oaf, o cat of the sky. How your eyes bulge
when you poo mouseskulls! Can it really be a surprise
after so many meals, sir?
Where were you when they closed our town library?
Tucked up in an old squirrel drey, I'll be bound,
worrying about your poor bouyancy,
wishing you could read.
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