The Moth

Watching from the small of ground As the heavens soon surround, A luminous butterfly, Escapes the meadows to the sky While a slice of sun begins to shy Away to hide behind, to slide behind, to reside behind, Misty sands, Hidden sights, A cloud so far away. To ominous recesses, of Angelic depressions, While they spill that awful rain, That pattering cascade of blackened spray, Gyrating with the thunder, Tumbling with a blunder, Escaping with the day, Fluttering away. He spies! He spies! To his utter surprise! A prominent regression, of Demonic misdirection, Fluttering away. Lancing like lightening, Scattering and frightening, Sputtering away. Joy is but a memory Fluttering away. Watching from the small of ground, As the demons soon surround, The Moth He strikes the final note, The Ghouls begin to join in rote, A rising, raucous, collective croak, That drifts afloat like acrid smoke. Watching from the highest ground, As the dark becomes profound, The luminous Butterfly, Eludes the evil fright, To bless another wicked night, It whisks away this wicked night, List in hand, Foretold flight, Off to spread its holy light.