Begin the Beguine.

By. Ollie Owl.

A flight of scavengers,
Circling above our house;
Can't smell any odor,
Probably an expired mouse;

Why the choice of our abode,
This we may never know;
Soaring in their little circle,
As around and around they go;

Slowly they begin descending,
Viewing their apparent wrath;
Realizing as they approach,
It's time to take a bath;