The moth likes to hide,
He stays in the dark,
When it's light outside,
He'll blend with some bark.

Moth loves the light,
He may be obsessive.
When the sky is dark,
he can be possessive.

He flies through the night
With sensory perception,
His world is alight
Through the power of detection.

He is contained and discreet,
He doesn't like to be seen.
He's happiest when still
And abiding serene.

He's sensitive to touch
And easily hurt.
He's gloriously brown,
The colour of dirt.

He has no extra
Airs and graces
But you may not see him
Because you are too impatient

He is there,
Hidden, in magnificent ochre,
Obscured in plain sight
The moth playing poker.

Would you like to know this man
In the life mask?
He will tell you his truth,
You just need to ask.