It seems like an eternity since I posted anything worth while in my journal. No stories, no poetry, nothing. Well, that changes today with an amusing poem I found. The mortal phrase "short but sweet" comes to mind when I think of this poem.
The Bat
By day the bat is cousin to the mouse.
He likes the attic of an ageing house.
His fingers make a hat about his head.
His pulse beat is so slow we think him dead.
He loops in crazy figures half the night.
Among the trees that face the corner light.
But when he brushes up against the screen,
We are afraid of what our eyes have seen.
For something is amiss or out of place,
When mice with wings can wear a human face.
By: Theodore Roethke
