Le hibou - Grégoire

Caillou, genou, chou, pou, joujou, bijou,

Répétait sans fin le petit hibou.

Joujou, bijou, pou, chou, caillou, genou,

Non, se disait-il, non, ce n’est pas tout.

Il y en a sept pourtant, sept en tout:

Bijou, caillou, pou, genou, chou, joujou.

Ce n’est ni bambou, ni clou, ni filou…

Quel est donc le septième?

Et le hibou,

La patte appuyée au creux de sa joue,

Se cachait de honte à l’ombre du houx.

Et il se désolait, si fatigué

Par tous ses devoirs de jeune écolier

Qu’il oubliait, en regardant le ciel

Entre les branches épaisses du houx,

Que son nom, oui, son propre nom, hibou,

Prenait, lui aussi, un X au pluriel.

Pebble, knee, cabbage, louse, toy, jewel,

Repeated the little owl endlessly.

Toy, jewel, pou, cabbage, pebble, knee,

No, he thought, no, that's not all.

There are seven yet, seven in all:

Jewel, pebble, louse, knee, cabbage, toy.

It's neither bamboo, nor nail, nor trickster...

So what is the seventh?

And the owl,

The paw pressed in the hollow of his cheek,

Hiding in shame in the shade of the holly.

And he was sorry, so tired

By all his schoolboy duties

That he forgot, looking at the sky

Between the thick branches of the holly,

That his name, yes, his own name, owl,

Also took an X in the plural.