Bat

IN broad daylight

He should not be:

Yet toward and froward,

Froward and toward

He weaves a flight.

Who will guide him back to his cave,

A little Bat astray,

Where he'll rest on the breast of night,

Away from day's bright miscreation?

The linnet throbs through the air,

The magpie coquettes with day,

The rook caws "Time to be gone,"

And travels on;

While toward and froward,

Froward and toward,

The Bat ... a fathom

Of flight . . . weaves.