Returns


The moth upon the wall sits tight.
A movement,
A moment slight that flits about her wings.
These thing enthral me.
They call to me of some natural state where this moth will wait as I look on.

Come the night..the moth is gone.

Flying not too high..perhaps she thinks she’ll fall..
..I call, the skies are yours..
..she soars as graceful as a kite.

Tomorrow she’ll return again..sit tight
Upon my wall.

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