In the ominous gloom of predawn,
behind and somewhere above the henhouse,
an owl poses the question:
“Who? Who, who?”
murmuring their fears and discontent,
unhappy to be awakened before sunup,
with mortality perched just outside,
The rooster screws up his courage and tremulously crows.
The owl repeats his question, “Who?”
The rooster crows again,
asserting himself now
as morning begins to bleach away the night.
The owl resigns himself to a light meal,
snatching the life from a mouse