From its pine-top perch
 
an owl booms out a warning—
 
spring melancholy.

 
 
 

In an old clay pot
 
a mouse shelters all night long—
 
the owl goes hungry.

 
 
 

Last night of the month—
 
high in a dying pine tree
 
an owl waits for prey.

 
 
 

Wane, strawberry moon!
 
I’ll keep following the voice
 
of the great horned owl.

 

 
 
 

Just before daybreak
 
the great horned owl cries once more,
 
then flies to his rest.

 
 
 

Having lost my way,
 
I ask the owl for wisdom
 
on this moonless night.

 
 
 

A hole in the sky—
 
wasn’t the great horned owl there
 
a moment ago?

 
 
 

Mountain loneliness—
 
hunting in silence, the owl
 
overtakes its prey.

 
 
 

barn owl’s hunting ground—
 
the vast expanse of shadows
 
between oak and pine

 
 
 

Moonlight serenade—
 
an owl swoops down from the oak
 
to embrace a mouse.