Oblivion
Against the glass it beats its wings
and hungers for the glowing flame.
It clashes, flutters, then it flings
itself again, repeats the same.
The moth will never cease its fight
to reach the blaze of burning light.
It does not know, like any fool,
that fields beyond are still and cool.
Copyright © Katharine L. Sparrow | Year Posted 2023
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