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| Five-spot Burnet, Zygaena trifolii |
The Moth
by Walter de la Mare
Isled in the midnight air,
Musked with the dark's faint bloom,
Out into glooming and secret haunts
The flame cries, 'Come!'
Lovely in dye and fan,
A-tremble in shimmering grace,
A moth from her winter swoon
Uplifts her face:
Stares from her glamorous eyes;
Wafts her on plumes like mist;
In ecstasy swirls and sways
To her strange tryst.
Out into glooming and secret haunts
The flame cries, 'Come!'
Lovely in dye and fan,
A-tremble in shimmering grace,
A moth from her winter swoon
Uplifts her face:
Stares from her glamorous eyes;
Wafts her on plumes like mist;
In ecstasy swirls and sways
To her strange tryst.
And I was wondering if I were to write a poem about a moth how it would go. I could write about the moth hotel on our balcony with its many lovely lacy visitors at night. But it may be about to become more of a Bates Motel for our little visitors, as Col has installed a Batbox!
Yesterday was a quiet home day - which I love, having always been a homebody - shopped in the morning, made a marinade for the chicken for tomorrow - and a tomato salsa/curry to go with it - made the soup for supper, did a bit of studying, and watched the telly.
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