Mothman
Called a monster from birth.
He now simply roams the Earth.
Flying high and swooping low.
Oh where shall the Mothman go?
From West Virginia where he fled,
Oh where oh where, will he rest his head?
Fly, oh Mothman, high, high, high
Up to the great light in the sky.
👁 3💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.