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A moth enraptured by a flame,
On fragile wings goes forth.

Can it be possible the flame
Is drawn, too, to the moth?
Little moth, do you attempt
To capture that bright flame,
Whose warmth may only be most kind,
Though “perilous” is its name?
Does the flame move closer as you flit
Or is focus all askew?
As you retreat, is it in fear
Of flame consuming you?
You’re short on armor, little moth
For such a dangerous game,
And you lack the clarity to know
Who’s moth and who’s the flame.

©2010 Carol Morfitt

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