An Odd Way of Life


Don't you think, little friend, it would very odd look
If you went to sleep hanging up by a hook;
And the plan I presume more unpleasant you'd think,
If you hung up for months without victuals or drink.

Now there is an animal you may have seen
When you in old castles or churches have been,
Which passes the winter exactly like that;
'Tis a quite common creature, its name is a Bat.

These hooks, which I speak of, are very odd things,
They're the claws of the leg sticking out near the wings;
And the bats fold their wings closely over their breast,
And hang by their hooks when they're going to rest.

In fine summer weather they're sure to come out
When the moths in the evening are flying about;
For the bats feed on moths, and they think them as good
As you would think mutton or pudding for food.

Sometimes it will happen that one gets a fall,
And then the poor thing can scarce rise up at all;
If thus you should find one, pray make it a gift,
It will not cost you much, all it wants is a lift.

Perhaps when you hear of a bat having wings
You will think, like a bird, it has feathers and sings,
But its body is covered with soft downy hair,
And it looks like a mouse flying up in the air.

A Bat cannot sing, and of course it can't speak,
But sometimes it utters a shrill little squeak
Very much like a mouse, and at times it will hiss
But 'tis very much frightened before it does this.

It never lays eggs—in a hole for a house
It brings up its little ones, much like a mouse;
But instead of preparing a soft cosy nest
It teaches its young ones to hang up to rest.

When the summer is over, and all the moths dead
Then what will become of the bats may be said;
By their hooks then they safely will hang themselves up,
And for months have no wish to breakfast or sup.

Now if you should catch one, be sure that you look
At its legs and its wings for its strange little hook;
And remember the story to-day you have beard,
Of a creature that's both like a mouse and a bird.