The Wise Old Man Poem by margaret haig

The wise old man we could call him,
He sits in the fork of a tree so thin;
But why do we think that he is so smart?
He doesn't need to work in a bank or mart.

The wise old owl watches all night,
For food to catch, yet we get a fright;
He doesn't say much, but listens well,
If he could talk, to you he'd tell.

He sits with his eyes close together,
And the female owl, her babes she'll gather;
The brain of an owl is so large for her,
If danger is near, teaches babes not to stir.

We also call old men who are bright,
They're a wise owl, they won't start a fight;
They sit and listen, before they will talk,
They're not like busybodies, they only sqwark.

My grandfather was a wise old man too,
When he spoke of things, you knew it was true;
I learnt about saving my money, 'twas right,
How to pick friends, not to get in a fight.

I want to be like the wise old owl too,
Watch and listen, don't stir trouble it's true;
To think what I'm doing, before I act bad,
Thanks mr owl, for teaching me, I'm glad.