Small ground owl arrange themselves on posts along the road
Little old lady ground owls
Like wisdom come out of the sea
Small young ground owls are like the weather
There it comes, there it comes
No one stuffs a small owl without a red lanterm
Without a red robe in a black room
Without a wardrobe where scratchy wreathes streak mildly
In the Argentine countryside, the little owls await the hour
Like the Creole and the Indians
They wait without hope
Arranged on posts
Along the road
Watching the chorus past
The Buick, the Ford, a Pontiac, a Plumeth, a Cadillac
In which the taxidermist ride with their wives and children
Without a red robe in a black room
Without a wardrobe where scratchy wreathes streak mildly
No one stuffs an owl without a red lantern
Without a red robe in a black room
To dissect lions you need lightning
For little owls you need forgetfulness