The owlets were coming of age
while grounded, testing their wings
as father soared overhead,
his children grouping for one more test.
Feathers puffed in awkward stance
one by one to Sunday school
beyond the tundra fields
of late summer skeeters,
to where fat lemmings flourish-
just fly over the last
grass-choked stream, said mother
(but they decide to wade across),
past wind-blown dunes of green, where
lies the sea beyond, with more lemmings
that hide and play near their burrows
than any snow owl on the wing could wish for.