The Moth
he laid aside the monthly Moth Gazette
he knew he'd rolled his final cigarette
too set in his ways
to deny his only vice
he stretched his wings
slightly frayed and singed
for one last flight
to an old flame
'twould be just a spurt of fire in the night
as she sucked him in
he'd feel no pain
a correspondent had surmised
another from a butterfly
took a different slant on things
but the god of moths
there where a single light-bulb hangs in space
had called him in
so he shrugged
and spiralled out
kicked his heels
and then inhaled
a final puff of sin
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
Added by Poetry Lover
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