Today I fried a bat for lunch,
Which I got myself to munch and munch,
His cape shaped wings,
His mousy head.
Then I spat out his little fried head,
For now I thought, I could be dead, dead, dead!
From eating such a concoction indeed,
Of bat wings, bat heads and bat feet.
Why I did this, I do not know,
It was a thrill and taking chances' afterglow.
But eating bats for munch-a-bunch lunch,
Was even for me a too wierd brunch.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem