O' Tattered Moth.

A moth sat crushed between the gate

of inside world to out

As I searched along the floor

And saw the victim flout

These wings of colour

pink and brown

tattered and abused

Short is the lifetime of a moth

with which my journey fused

And in a moment saw his face

This history on his back

The darkness of the night inscribed

like stars upon the black

A noble creature of the night

discovered yet by day

And in my hand to my delight

He slowly starts to say

His travelling story told to me

The lonesome of the dark

the harsh country, the biting of the cold

the beckon of a spark

And then he muttered in my ear
the wind upon a wing

and how he came to light in night

to see the shadows sing

I hug these thoughts

now close to mine

and hear them in my head

and wonder where the night begins

when humans are in bed