The bane of bat surveys - that b***dy PIR flood-light!

 

I’m sitting here, very still.

Of bats I hope to get my fill.

But all ain’t well. It isn’t right:

That bloody PIR flood-light

 

Bolted there, upon the wall,

It’s glaring eye stares at all.

The owner promised it wouldn’t work.

Now it’s clear he’s a lying jerk.

 

If I move a tiny bit,

All around is brightly lit.

Bright as any supernova,

My survey will be truly over.

 

So here I sit and curse my lot,

Want to move, but I cannot.

Cramp in foot I cannot sate,

My itchy nose must also wait.

 

Frustration grows, no longer care,

Desperately around I stare.

I see my answer, my lips I lick,

As my eye falls onto a half-brick.

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