Those last four lines will be echoing around the interior topography of my heart for a long time. (Even if what immediately precedes them fills me with the urge to leap to the defense of songbirds.)
By my laissez faire standards, finesse/darkness doesn't even begin to stick a thumb in the eye of the strict rhyme mullahs. And I love the way the occasional jitteriness of the meter replicates a bat's flight rhythms.
I'll admit that I don't get the final line of the octave, but apart from that, this is an unalloyed delight.
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