Tuesday 30 July 2019

Super Bat

It hides in its roost
by a stream in the day.

The moths gather in the gloom.

Sonar is a society norm
among those winged hunters.

Detecting their prey with pin-point
proficiency in the dark.

The moths flutter through the leaves.

The long-eared hunter takes off,
no radar to guide it.

Just the rush and thrum
of a moth's wing-beat

can guide it on course.