The moon's a holy owl-queen.She keeps them in a jar under her arm till evening,
Then sallies forth to war.
She pours the owls upon us.
They hoot with horrid noise and eat the naughty mousie girls
and wicked mousie-boys.
So climb the moonvine every night
And to the owl-queen pray:
leave good green cheese by moonlit trees
for her to take away.
And never squeak, my children,
Nor gnaw the smoke-house door: the owl-queen will love us
and send her birds no more.
