Can you guess my IQ by reading this poem I wrote?

This is now a 'compose a poem' thread. My effort:

The humble owl, who sits on warm-breez'd nights
Upon the beech whereon my window opens,
Has discourses of hoots, throat-warbled speeches,
More solemn -- more proud! -- than man has yet spoken.

For which avian court does he argue? What cause
his cause to champion, in his publickly appointed tree?
Or perhaps he hoots his own musings, to no audience but me,
Who cannot understand his sad, feathered philosophy.