When it’s Autumn in the Ozarks
and all the animals are fed.
When the hoot owl calls at nighttime
while I lie in my little bed.
The who-who sound is repeated,
far away, yet as close as night
that is dark outside my window–
the owl must be a pretty sight.
And oh, if I could find that owl
who gently wakes me with its call,
I would join it in the treetops
and not go back to sleep, at all.
© Freeda Baker Nichols