This is what happens when I get too much free time. Its not biologically precise but its art not science

The Snowy Death
Todd Webb
This grim, unknown menace needs no light to find the victims of its deadly breath
Hanging alone, or huddled in their thousands, they will succumb to the snowy death
Though its true identity remains hidden, its called by a name every bat lover now knows
Taken from the telltale sign of a half million victims, the badge of death, the White Nose
They flew under summer moonlight with unmatched skill, until besieged from within
Now they are but motionless shells of tattered brown fur, dehydrated, dry, and thin
Stealing the fat needed for their winter sleep, the killer forces the sleepers to awake
To die hungry hanging in the dark, or freeze to death in snow, is a hard choice to make
With no more fuel to burn to keep their bodies warm, in search of food they fly outside
The victims are their own executioners, driven by hunger to a frozen, behavioral suicide
They were never meant to see a mid-winter sun, never meant to feel a snow banks chill
Into a frozen landscape in a hopeless search for bugs, until struggling bodies grow still
Now a grisly feast for scavengers, samples for distant labs, just another test in a Petri dish
Germs, toxins, or fungus we don’t know, just don’t let it reach here is every cavers wish
Among the winged slain scientists lightly walk, with a tvek suit and a big filtered mask
Cavers too still venture to the world underground, but doing decon is a new caving task
In a hundred rooms a thousand minds work to solve this deadly new puzzle so vague
In the states of the northeast closed cave lists grow, hoping to stop the chiropteran plague
Is it in vain as the infected travel by flight, carrying a white death contracted in the dark?
On summer feeding grounds different populations meet, roosting together under tree bark
One cave to thirty, one state to five, 18 bats to 500,000 where it will end we can’t know
Passenger Pigeons and Carolina Parakeets already are gone; will bats be the next to go?
Their rocky halls are silent; gone is the chitter of their voices, and whisper of their wings
Ceilings of dark velvet, living smoke emerging at night, will our children see these things
What will be the fate of the cave guano ecology? Will insect pests fill our moonlit sky?
What happens if the killer isn’t stopped? What will keep the balance if all the bats die?