Classic Poem

Of manners and tricks, as erratic
As ever a bird's may be,
Is the brown owl I keep in my attic,
As a quiet companion for me.

He perches all day on a rafter,
Staring down with his great round eyes;
And excites my inordinate laughter,
He looks so important and wise!

I have watched him for whole hours together,
This dignified judge of a bird,
Fluttering never a feather,
Nor uttering ever a word.

But he sits there winking and blinking,
Nor an inch from his post will he stir
Until sunset; most probably thinking
Of the jolly old days that were —

Of the Naugatuck woods, and the thicket,
Where the litle birds tasted so nice;
When the world didn't seem half so wicked,
And barns were o'errunning with mice.

But at night, like the grimmest of sentries,
At the time of the flitting of bats,
He patrols through the garrets and entries,
And arrests all the vagabond rats.

It may seem to you lonely, but surely
Our life is of comfort the type;
He munches his mutton demurely,
While I am enjoying my pipe.

Of love I have witnessed the folly,
And experienced the baseness of man:
The secret of life is — be jolly,
Read Dickens, and sleep when you can!

So, I say, let the world with its trouble
Drift on, for its cares we defy;
From our garret it seems but a bubble,
To my little brown owl and I!