Bad Poetry 
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The Owl Whistles at Noon When the oppressive sun sits on high
and true love makes its last croon
Although the mad woman saw under the moon
many bright days to go by
The owl whistles at noon
Our timing that is ultimately inopportune
lends memories to go on by
and moments gone far too soon
Blossoms in the spring always bloom
and at night we watched the clear sky
but the owl still whistles at noon
I cry under the moon
to God to please let this not be goodbye
I look to the stars for a sign and receive none any time soon
Blossoms in the spring always bloom
but hearts always decay
The Owl whistles at noon
Maybe one day I will see the butterfly at noon
but today, still the Owl whistles at noon