Owl

He is surely the most stupid
Owl, forever stumbling,
Flying with abandon away
From adulthood and into
Childhood, the wrong way.
Yet at times he is the wisest
Old owl, he mends our broken
Wings, confused little minds,
Where would we be without him,
The stupidly wise owl?

Flight

The matriarchal owl observed her nest, from
New fledglings, barely created to full grown owls
Much the same as her. A variety of sizes, colours, personalities.
Yet, overtime she grew bored, until one fine May Day, complete with
Shiny yellow sun and a warm breeze, compliments of the continental
High pressure someone new to the neigh-bird-hood caught her eye. She sat and
Sighed, until she realised fate, destiny and love were on her side, so
Off she flew to the new mate of her own, leaving her nest empty
But not alone for happiness and love were aplenty.

Sweet Old Owl

You are the oldest owl of our sweet branch,
The old, wise, caring leader, whom of course we
All adore. We couldn’t be without your insight, and
Vast wilderness of experience, always you made even the worst
Things seem better. You took each and every one of us under that
Strong wing of yours, protected, sheltered, nurtured us all
And now there is nothing left to do, other than call
‘Sweet old owl we love you!’