Oh Satan's
vexing, gypsy moth.
Icarus
of the lamp.
Torched, foul, smoldering ember.
Aye, the jokes on you.

Good riddance
netherworld gadfly,
dust covered
moon splashed wings,
who flitted too close the sun.
I shall miss the not.

What of thy
onlooking brother?
Is he not
the bright one,
bathing in incandescent
blissful ignorance?

Though he be
but Nature's Dastard,
he'll bask the morrow,
whilst thy apparition flies
to hell, whence ye came.


*While enjoying a beautiful Summer night, I was attacked by a squadron of moths and millers.  The zealous, daring, but stupid one, flew too close to a lamp and got fried. The other, pious, yet too afraid worshiped from afar. By the way, one's just as stupid as the other one. The lamp is not the moon cretins.