1. The night has become dark as its army camps,
And dawn races in, putting its all to flight.

2. Like flaming sparks its light flares and darts,
Sheltering in the folds of its dark robe.

3. Returning to the attack when it dons its armor,
A slender body concealed in its cloak.

4. As though its saffron color had dyed its coat,
The owl does not cease its cries of alarm.

5. Now it draws close, now it shrinks away,
Raking at it with sharp talons.

6. Sometimes driving it off, sometimes pecking it,
And the flock cannot save it with its cover.

7. From the lurking blue rock pigeons they harry it,
Hissing when it swoops down upon them.

8. Like a lute player trying out his strings,
Or a boy with his sling disturbing it.