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Bats over the river

I watched the bats flitter and swoop,

One dusky summer evening,

About the river beneath the trees

With their own good reason

For tiny fragments of flying food

That my old eyes can’t see,

Yet they find them through their tiny ears

Oh, better thou than me.

More still come, these flying sprites,

And as the darkness deepens,

Ceaselessly they turn and chase

Other life with its own ends.

I can’t believe in tumbling flight

They have no fun at all

Without sense of endings brought

To those others in their thrall.

© RM Meyer
Winswell Water, July/August 2020