Last Hurrah

Lots of little moths are flitting Near the bushes and the trees, Such a frenzied sort of flutter, They might stir a little breeze. Some are solo, but more likely, Most are traveling in groups, Do-si-do-ing through the flora, Doing crazy loop-di-loops. In some spots, they’re like confetti Which the wind has set a’whirl. Guess their instincts have informed them They’ve just time for one more twirl.