Sonnet to a Moth in the Dark by Lynne Peskoe
That hunger keeps you here, though you don't eat –
You beat the glass as if to purge your sins.
Your powdered wings must ache like pilgrims' feet,
But craving for illumination wins.
Perhaps your need for light warrants such pain.
How could I know your trials, little friend?
Conceivably, your battle with my pane
Is half the plan to shirk some hellish end.
Still, why my window? See, my wretched lamp
Can barely send its yellow through the rain.
Nor can it thwart the darkness, nor the damp;
If it's my help you seek, you've come in vain.
What do I know of searching for the light?
I only hope, like you, to dodge the night.
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