On Running Across a Stuffed Owl While Housecleaning

Each spring we meet, this old stuffed owl
And I, here in the attic,
And each spring finds me threatening
To be, for once, emphatic.

I tell myself, “This time he goes!”
This year the vow is firmest!
I swear I’ll scrap this pride of some
Long-vanished taxidermist!

I put him back. I pat his head,
Smooth down that wing and this wing,
One never knows when one will need
An owl with one eye missing!