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A Moth Psalm
Tranquility of a moth
Hums through the grasslands
Wings drawn bright and broad
Abounding colors to its demand
In its trifling fingertips
Lugging nothing but a dandelion
“That is nothing but a weed!”
a small chipmunk chipped
“It’s for my dear horizon!
A weed to you is a treasure to me,
And I’d pick each daisy,
And scavenge each sea,
Or sacrifice my wings.
I’d feel the vigor of my legs
Just to give her my guarantee.”
The chipmunk huffed.
“But why, Mrs. Moth?”
“Why would you ask such a question!"
“You cannot look at the sun!”
“But dear little chipmunk,
I love her imperfections"
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