As the moth lays motionless, on a cold, callas palm
The point at which it usually dies
Suddenly the moth was bestowed by a cool sense of calm,
and the creature closed its little eyes.
It thought of better days, as a young, grounded grub
When the world seemed a much smaller place
Cocooned out of harm’s way, but voided of love,
Until it emerged a flightful insect of grace.
So the little Lepidoptera emerged, free from its case
Soaring high in the summer night sky
Sweeping between flowers and foliage at a sickening pace
Defying the laws of gravity, to the moth, these rules didn't apply.
Synchronised and harmonious, as it fluttered in the moon
Unique and unorthodox in its flight,
Embarking on its final journey; its time has come too soon
As it flies, for the last time, into the light.
© Joe Palmer