Nothing like being in the dark, strolling along, and having someone, or something, ask you a question. Makes the old heart go pitty-pat, does mine anyway. I’m strolling along like some big nocturnal beast when this big old bird demands to know who does my cooking. Honestly, I do my own breakfast and eat fruit for lunch, but I’m not about to tell this guy. I mean, who, who does he think he is? It’s all in fun but talking to an owl before daylight is a trip. Try it sometime; you’ll be up before daybreak, enjoy the rest of the day, and have a rare experience. City folks miss out on a bit of life not being able to take time to listen. Oh well, someone’s got to do it.

WHO COOKS FOR YOU?

On a walk before sun-up, mercy it’s dark,

My old country lane’s not some walk in a park.

I stumble along, like my feet always do,

Hear unseen voice demanding, who cooks for you.

Came from an old Oak, very high off the ground,

Shined up the flashlight to see who’s made this sound.

Two unblinking great eyes, with large talons too,

Asking me about eating, seen by so few.

Chatted a minute; he was quite a talker,

Being grilled before daybreak somewhat a shocker.

Hey, down there, buddy, would be nice if I knew,

Open up, come on now; who, who cooks for you?

The guy sat still, regal, all snug on that perch,

Who’s he demanding? Man, I’m not in church.

My gaze caught one foot, from it came a quick clue,

Mr. Owl’s meal was waiting, a tasty mouse stew.

Why’s that bird so special, to know who’s cooking,

Could not break his gaze, fool would not stop looking.

Never did answer, went home to a hot brew,

Walked off with him asking, who, who cooks for you?