Let Me Tell You Some Stories of Wise Old Owls.

Notes: My mother, loved quoting poetry and would receite the poem, "The Owl and The Pussycat," from memory for her father, Elmer L. Gadbois, who always laughed in appreciation everytime she did. Please visit the companion site to this one: The Owl and The Pussycat

A Wise Old Owl

A wise old owl lived in an oak
The more he saw the less he spoke
The less he spoke the more he heard.
Why can't we all be like that wise old bird?

Wise Old Owl

by Connie Hinnen Cook

Like the Solomon of fowl
Sat a wise old owl
Perched in a Sycamore tree,
While the moonlight glimmered
And the starlight shimmered,
These words he spoke to me:

"I guess you've heard
I'm a wise old bird,
And if wisdom you would find...
Always look for the best
And your life will be blest,
To all others' faults be blind.

"In this life, I know
You will find it so
That if you think kindly of others,
You'll soon find that it's true
They'll think kindly of you...
Praise your sisters and your brothers!"

You may think me a fool -
Owls don't talk, as a rule,
But in solemn tone he said:
"Don't be quick to enact
Words you'll wish to retract,
Dwell upon the good instead!"

Though I hate to admit it,
I could see, once I did it,
What that wise owl said was true.
Your faults I'll overlook
'Cause it says in The Book
What you sow comes back to you!

Now, if you will agree
With what he said to me,
Then my faults you will ignore...
Like that sage bird said
We'll both come out ahead
If we judge less, and praise more!

"A Wise Old Owl Sat In An Oak"
World War II Poster
(1941-1945)

The Owl and The Pussycat

The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat:
They took some honey,
and plenty of money
Wrapped up in a five-pound note.

The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
"O lovely Pussy, O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!"

Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl,
How charmingly sweet you sing!
Oh! let us be married;
too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?"
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the bong-tree grows;
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood,
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.

"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?" Said the Piggy, "I will."
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;

And hand in hand on the edge of the sand
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.