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As the burnt moth tumbled
her wings aflame,
you became a gentle rain
easing the consuming pain,
extinguishing the destructive fire,
guiding her from her pyre;
keeping her out of the mire.
A parachute as she crumbled.

As the burnt moth crumbled,
from the ashes she grew
wings to rise with anew.
You, like a soft breeze blew
an updraft to a warm embrace,
which became a stable base;
an encasing space.
Leaving her guilt humbled.