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Poem

Once upon a time, in a place, not too far off,
In the dark, by the moon, there lived a family of moths.
Now, for those who don't know, a moth is like a butterfly,
but instead of vibrant colors, their wings are pale white.
Moths are known to come out and dance around fires at night,
and though it can be dangerous, they love its brilliant light!
When the sun would end its job and it was time to leave,
a family of moths would begin their late routine.
Their tradition was to dance around a yellow glowing flame,
of a streetlight, freshly lit, every eve, the family came.
-But there was one young moth who never did take part,
instead of dancing by the burning host, he preferred a star.
It seemed merely a twinkle, upon a branch of a great tree,
he felt, someday, if he could gain the strength, that star he'd reach.
Now his mother and his father scoffed and both would ask him why,
does he not join his brothers and his sisters by their side.
"Your brothers all are greatly singed, when will you take your turn?
Your sister's wings have turned to black, yet, you don't have one burn!"
Despite their scolds, despite their taunts, the little moth still aimed,
for that shining star he never knew was trillions of miles away.
He'd flap his wings, though he'd fly high, he could not ascend,
and every night, he'd fall just short and wait to try again.
But then, one day, he turned around and saw he was alone.
His entire family was gone, burned like butter on the stove.
And now that he was an old, old, moth he finally came to see,
that he, indeed, had reached his star, and it wasn't above the tree.

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