THE BAT

By day the bat is cousin to the mouse

He likes the attic of an ageing house

His fingers make a hat above his head

His pulse beat is so slow we think him dead

He loops in crazy figures half the night

Above the trees that face the corner light

But when he brushes up against a screen

We are afraid of what our eyes have seen

For something is amiss or out of place

When mice with wings can make a human face

(Written by Theodore Roethke)

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s