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