Everybody should have their own owl

Everybody should have their own owl,
A feathered friend perched on the sill,
With eyes like amber lanterns, soft and cool,
Watching the world while the night grows still.

In British towns where fog drifts low,
Or on a Scottish hill where heather sighs,
An owl’s quiet hoot becomes a slow
Lullaby that never says goodbye.

From London’s bustling Thames‑side streets
To Cornwall’s craggy, salty spray,
The owl will keep your secrets sweet,
And guard your dreams till break of day.

So let each home, each flat, each house,
Adopt a wise, nocturnal mate—
For in the hush of twilight’s grouse,
An owl makes every fate feel great.