Carrying silence on its wings
Over the night's city
The bat moans unheard by men.

Softly it flies in hunt for food
The noise down below seems distant,
An alienating sound he never was a part of,
His flight engraved on the pale moon.

There's so little time, morning will come soon.

But the city spews up only soot
His search is despairing for a tree bearing fruit.
Oblivious life noisily flows below
Consigning the bat to a death of doom,

There's no food, and morn will come soon.