remember the tragedy of the long-ago poet moth,
who in chasing the muse, flew all alone one night
higher and higher, until ice tickled at her wings
and the blessed madness of poetic inspiration
of divinaesthesia's irresistible grasp
without the watch of a friend
possessed her to fly further
the most incredible poetry swirling in her,
up up into that icy sky she flew
until, all alone, she froze
and fell to the earth,
never to share
her findings
so remember, little moths,
if you go chasing the moon
bring a friendly firebug
to guide you safely home