The Owlery

Whereupon wisdom is lit -

There on a hill the owlery sits;

In it they perch, as far as can see

Busier and busier than busy trees.

 

Books are scattered, far and wide -

Fleas with glasses perched for a ride;

Stories told softly, hooted with clicks

Written with heart; blessings from Nyx.

 

They flutter about, searching for tales -

Always a gift, and never a sale;

Feathers about like those stories told -

Each with a note, always in gold.

 

Morals and lessons mean nothing to them -

Everything written in their eyes gems;

Over and over, they read them with love -

Never labor, always in sunshine above.

 

Even those from afar come to read -

Rabbits and turtles and men with beads;

Looking for wisdom, though they seek none,

Owlery on a hill, glittering in the sun.

 

The owls don’t mind it, for more stories are heard -

And they listen for everything, even the birds;

Eons of lore, hidden in those legends

This wisdom of theirs, a sort of haven.

 

Golden eyes, or luminous moons -

Looking about, ne’er finishing soon;

Their work goes on, ever and ever

As long we think, they will endeavor.

Author's Note

Spur of the moment, oh and I love owls.

Reviews

[Worms]

wonderful use of the work
however, men with weeds?, seems to throw you off there a little in order to make it rhyme
also "only a final run" seems out of place, it is almost a non sequitor
I would say that either fix those or make the poem as though it were being spoken by someone that is random, but smart, almost mad scientist-esqe
anyways amazing poetry as always