The poem is not signed with any name.

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Moth

Silly little moth
Burning on a candle
Flame is much too hot
For the wings to handle
Stars will fall in sorrow
On the weathered porch
Moth meets no tomorrow
If it seeks the torch.

Lamp light gives no heat
Wood is softly creaking
Spear to rend through meat
Wife will be left weeping
Pen can break the sword
Rose will have to wither
Temple to a word
Are the dreamers listeners?

Soldiers are not born
Soldiers are the dying
Moths are not forlorn
Moths can still be flying
Nature gave cruel love
Pain is their desire
Soar from high above
To perish in the fire.

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