19 September 2012
A cornucopia of bats across the sky, Their wings like moths' own as they fly,
Sleek black skin like fleshy cloth, Again not unlike that of a moth,
Calls and sonar only they root out, Obvious to them, as a human's shout,
Mysterious as night's mistress, Stroking the sky with movements lustrous,
A symphony of flight above, A sight a person could come to love.
A Symphony Of Bats. • Opuss № I