| THE MOTH Around the fire light,she glances. Across the ground,her shadow dances. She has the mystery of rain Above her head,move shadowed chances, from behind their silky shrouds. Then it comes. A silent wind. The silent message of a storm. It calls,from somewhere in a night, where broken promises are borne. Still she moves,her grace uneven, as she dances with the flame. How close can she get before the fire takes its claim. A raindrop falls, and melts in fire. The flames of desire burn ever higher. The morning breaks, and she is gone. The memory like a forgotten song, echoes, as you try invain, to recall her name. Was she swallowed by the burning flames, or washed away, in the midnight rain. Copyright ©2004 Garry Garrison |