Moth to the Flame (a poem)

Moth to the Flame

Do you think the Moth,

fragile and flying,

knows I’m a flame,

desired and dying?

Is he a poor man’s Icarus,

foolishly flying?

And I the burning Sun,

magnificently lying.

But I the flame am not to blame.

The Moth and Mortal must’ve known

Fire like me you cannot tame.

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