fine teeth bared to sing

Bat-song, if we could hear it:

ah, eyrie-ire; aero hour, eh?
 O’er our ur-area (our era aye
 ere your raw row) we air our array
 err, yaw, row wry—aura our orrery,
 our eerie ü our ray, our arrow.
 
 A rare ear, our aery Yahweh.

[from Les Murray, “Bats’ Ultrasound,” in The Daylight Moon and Other Poems. Full poem at lesmurray.org]

 

fine teeth bared to sing

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