by Robert Desnos
They have flown into the heart of summer
Those great night-birds, those blind hunters,
Their flight more silent than the fall of dead leaves.
They have built their nests in hollow trees
And in ruins, in churches,
Far from the laughter and the songs of men,
On the roofs of deserted cottages.
Their round eyes shine in the darkness
Like live coals in a chimney,
And their feathers, soft as cotton,
Muffles their flight like snowflakes.
They take advantage of the shadow
To swoop down on their prey;
They can even see through closed shutters
The mouse’s path or the rat’s hiding-place.
And all the little beasts of the night,
The insects and the birds that sleep
Under the leaves and in the thick grass
Are afraid of those round, shiny eyes.
But when the sun rises, the owls sleep
In the hollow of their trees or under the eaves,
And children who catch sight of them through a window
Cry out with fear at their ugliness.
However, owls are very useful;
They rid us of rats, mice, and insects,
And they do no harm during the day,
So we should be grateful to them.