Bats in the attic
Before I saw them,
Nights were silent.
Ceiling and roof closed in on me.
But after I’d seen one,
Then I heard them all the time.
Their noisomeness might have frightened me,
Yet it didn’t.
Night’s quiet had been the solitude of the grave.
But now death can hold no terrors
When over my head so sociably sounds
The whispering rustle of wings.