The Moon'S A Holy Owl-Queen. She Keeps Them In A Jar Under Her Arm Till Evening, Then Sallies Forth To War. She Pours The Owls Upon Us. They Hoot With Horrid Noise And Eat The Naughty Mousie-Girls And Wicked Mousie-Boys. So Climb The Moonvine Every Night And To The Owl-Queen Pray: Leave Good Green Cheese By Moonlit Trees For Her To Take Away. And Never Squeak, My Children, Nor Gnaw The Smoke-House Door: The Owl-Queen Then Will Love Us And Send Her Birds No More.