9 P.M.
Who is the bird that when all is still
Like a banshee calls? The Whip-poor-will;
Who greets the Nighthawk in upper air
Where they take their supper of insect fare.
Midnight
Who are the birds that at midnight’s stroke
Play hide-and-seek in the half-dead oak?
And laugh and scream ’till the watch-dog howls?
The wise-looking, mouse-hunting young Screech Owls.