THE OWL

When cats run home and light is come

And dew is cold upon the ground

And the far-off stream is dumb

And the whirring sail goes round

And the whirring sail goes round

Alone and warming his five wits

The white owl in the belfry sits

When merry milkmaids click the latch

And rarely smells the new-mown hay

And the cock hath sung beneath the latch

Twice or thrice his roundelay

Twice or thrice his roundelay

Alone and warming his five wits

The white owl in the belfry sits

(Written by Alfred Lord Tennyson)

 

 

IN THE BARN

High as a house

Soft as a bed

The hay is stacked

Over your head

It gets in your boot

It gets in your ears

I could stay here

For years and years

(Written by Lesley Chapman)