High up in the sycamore tree
The owl descends from flight.
With skill he glides so gracefully
To find his place at night.

As evening falls I hear him call,
His voice so clean and clear,
The echo so familiar now
As though he were quite near.

Then, lo, I hear another voice,
Not quite as loud as he,
Nearby reply in loving tones.
She sings so lovingly.

“I’m here, my love, draw close to me,”
She coos in sweetest song.
“I’ll wait for you in nearby tree;
Our love will be so strong.”

And now there are two faithful owls,
Twice as lovely they seem,
Two souls in love above the world
High up in the sycamore tree.