Olan L. Smith's Short Stories

Mrs. Owl

Photo credit: Olan Smith

Mrs. Owl

©2012, Olan L. Smith (edited 2017)

Mother, I cried today because I thought you did not love me.

I sat my tiny frame on the stoop and wailed to whomever,

"Oh, woe is me!" I walked to a nearby pond and sat beside an elm tree,

Tall and large that offered shade. An owl swooped and landed on a bough

Above my head and chimed, "Whooo, whooo are yooou?

Whooo cries beneath my tree so tall and broad?"

Gazing up, I spy a hoot-owl peering down and answering,

"It is I who is bawling beneath your glowing orbs

Of wisdom." The wind blew warm and dried my tears.

And a smile came across my face as I was speaking.

To a bird, an unimaginable thought a moment prior.

"My, my..." said the wise owl. "I thought you were a spike of cotton

So white is your towhead, and why do you sob so much?"

I sniffled and wiped away the last tear and said, "Cause. No one

Loves me. That is why I blubber. Not even my mother

Cares a whit about my welfare. She punished me for

Breaking the cookie jar was an accident; I swear."

"I see," said the owl. "You still dwell in a nest with those other two

Rascals that you call siblings who scramble around and lob BB's at me.

I take it; you were hungry?"

"Well, not exactly. I wanted one of her chocolate chipped cookies, but

I was too short and when I reached up and slid my hand in,

Well, I lost balance and the jar shattered to smithereens on the floor.

It made such a thunderous noise; it scared me. Then my mom hollered at me

And then I cried and now here I am talking to a bird."