A Barred Owl is streaked with lines
that camouflage its breast in pines;
it’s different lines a Bard combines.
Winter broadcasts of “Woo woo”
announce this bird is looking to
locate a mate. “Boohoo, I’m blue,”
it moans in dreaded dry spells when
it fears it will not rhyme again.
“You too?” It queries now and then
amid the gathered company
of other Bards. These birds agree
it’s tough to air good poetry.