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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Song of the Bats

They fall,
with the sigh of wind
between walls.
Trembling,
the sky falling on the moon.
Mother of shadows.

Bats with silver eyes,
the radiance of rivers,
valleys of echoes,
octaves of light,
snowflakes of coal.
Stillness darting like arrows
through the branches of trees.

I hear nothing,
in the wake of their singing.
Where do they go?
Living in shadows,
while the night,
opens its curtain of attentive stars,
watching them fly
among flowers,
scentless and cold.

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