The Moth Falls Clear of Emotions, But Not a Burning Candle

When the Moth flies drained of all her feelings Flight weakens her wings, all that is cherished Wings dry like powder, caught in a stale breeze Powder falls up and out, tender this does make When wings carry the weight of the world Flight makes heavy the silken frame of love Then a heart is weaken from yesterdays flight The Moth has been singed by fire of the lovelorn When the Moth takes a once in a lifetime chance flight There are no strings to this puppet of thought Heat rises, but where there is a cold heart in view One falls clear of emotions, but not a burning candle When slow sinking takes to the depths of feelings Strike a match and give life to the candle with flame Offer roses of twenty for thirdy seconds of wild and red The Moth lands on a bud, yet to glory for praising luck When a moth flies high and touches the luners edge Kissed in morning dewdrops, mother taught to flutter The powder dries quick, bide your time upon the rocks Don't fly low to this candles flame, burnt you shall be