Ode To A
The bat's is not a public face,
Its beauty's in the dark,
Yet if I versify its grace
And catch its vital spark
May it not win as high a place
As any literary lark?
‘O bat! O bat! O flying shrew! . . .'
But no, the Muse played flirt.
My inspiration stuck like glue,
The piece proved quite inert,
Despite a theft from you-know-who.
Yes: ‘Bird thou never wert.’
If you have any comments on this poem, Jerome Betts would be
pleased to hear from you.