I know a human owl. Gray-white beard coming to a point; spectacles like an owl's eyes; a short fat body. Looks most like an owl when he sits. And he sits almost all the time. In the Library. I have never seen a man able to sit so much, and so long. How he does it? He is heavily-cushioned,—below Well, this owl is hooting for war. .... Think of it: himself incapable of moving faster than a waddling duck. .... as sure of his old hide as a superannuated porker,—this creature hoots and grunts and screeches for slaughter and bloodshed. From his perch in the Library. Where he sits. And sits. And sits. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: WIDOW MCFARLANE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS OUR LORD AND OUR LADY by HILAIRE BELLOC WHEN I WROTE A LITTLE by HAYDEN CARRUTH WISDOM COMETH WITH THE YEARS by COUNTEE CULLEN THE STORY OF THE END OF THE STORY by JAMES GALVIN |