Cows

Cows,

They’re black and white,

Just like the night,

Except the white,

Though that’s not right,

Because at night,

And due to fright,

Many tend to turn on a light,

Adding some white,

To the black of the night,

So the bedbugs don’t bite,

While they’re snuggled up tight,

Until it gets bright,

By the end of the night,

When things are alright,

And no one will fight,

Well, some people might,

But they breathe easy in light,

Because in the night,

The shadows of fright,

Give way to their plight,

When a creature in flight,

Undoes their last rite,

And whom they can’t smite,

For the strength of his sleight,

That terrible wight,

Who glides like a kite,

On the winds of the night,

Until he’s out of sight,

And the crooks sit tight,

Until the first light,

For which they have no delight,

But are indeed contrite,

And often will spite,

The creature of night,

Of whom I write,

The Dark Knight.