by Selia Qynn 7/19/1994

Hark! What's that fluttering I hear?
Is it his wings, drawing nearer?
No, it's not his fluttering wings,
It's the flickering of the flame that sings.

And burns with longing for the one
Who's bright eye misses nothing.
Not even the moons of Jupiter
Escape him in their passing.

If you hear me calling,
If you're hovering near,
Won't you let your own desire.
Override your fear?

Give me a chance to make you glad
That you took the risk,
And bet against the odds just once.
For more I would not ask.

So the candle called out.
And the moth was taken in.
Like a siren and a sailor
Who's beginning was their end.