Oh, as the moth doth fly on fickle wings
Towards the fiery flame that unfolds,
So to do I flock the same as the moth
Towards the brightly burning heart that you hold.
And as the moth doth warm his weary wings
As to bathe in the basking of the light,
So to do I soak in a sea of love
And rest in your comforting arms of night.
And though the moth may knoweth not
Why the light of the fragile flame doth glow,
I can see the light burning white in you
And fall upon me like soft and silent snow.
Yet, if I was to hold that fire in you
I fear that in love… I may be all consumed.
-Cheshire Puss
