It was a December/May match.
I was December, he was May.
Though a bit gray I was a catch,
In a sexy maternal way.
Lady of the evening, yes,
I tried for sake of family,
But he came to me less and less.
I knew he wanted to trade me
In for a newer model, plus
He would get the love nest - no yarn!
Though humans do it more than us,
Barn owls do break up, in the barn.
Instinctively, I knew of course,
My mate had chosen to divorce.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem