The old owl perched on the great Oak.

Let out a slow soft hoot,

The black night steals it away,

And pass it on to the moors.

His wings were bare; bore no feathers,

Nor strength to take a flight.

His deaf ear mutes all sounds,

Stillness, chirps, rackets, and all.

His eyes have lost their sight,

Oh! He is as blind as he is old!

And the talons that once gripped

Stayed lost in the way of time.

Yet he perches while he can,

And hoots a soft long sigh,

A call out to the weary traveler,

“Whoo Whoo the night dawns to a bright new day”