The Bat

By day the bat is cousin to the mouse.
He likes the attic of an aging 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 a 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

Comments (8)

who is the speaker of the poem?
I like it....
This makes me pumped up before my matchs and icome to my smackdowns! ! ! !
Roethke is a master of both humor and the poetic skills to present such enjoyable pieces of work!
A very nice poem. Quite enjoyable.
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