The Owl And The Fox

When I was a lad, I would ask my dad
            As I climbed up on his knee,
“Will you please read ‘The Owl And The Fox’
            Just one more time for me?”

Then he’d put his hand on my curly head
            And a finger on my nose,
And then he’d say, with a wink and a nod,
            “Son, this is the way it goes.”

He’d then begin in his real deep voice,
            And the words were a wonder to hear.
Then my eyes would close and the owl and the fox
            In my mind would then reappear.

Hundreds of times I’ve heard that poem
            As I sat on my father’s knee,
And I’d give the world if he could read
            That poem once more for me.

But Dad’s passed on to the other side;
            No more on his knee will I climb.
But he left me his book of “Best loved Poems”
            And the love of reciting a rhyme.

And now I hold in my arms tonight
            A child with golden locks,
And he’ll fall asleep as I read to him
            The poem of the “Owl And The Fox.”