The Great Horned Owl, that regal bird,
Builds a nest to please his wife,
One of mutual hopes and dreams
But of sticks and bones most of all.
And when his hoots of love are heard
His nest is ready for the strife
That comes with lowly lurking schemes
Of mice who curse and plan its fall.
Blessed hatchlings further spur
This knothole home to prove not rife
With harmless-seeming secret seams
That slip between before they wrawl.
What comes before is mere foreword
To the order of a purposed life;
A nest is built on selfless themes
And in a tree, though bent, still tall.
Morning's Early Dark 