deepundergroundpoetry.com
Moth
I am still that moth.
Clinging to your screen door.
On a summer night.
The flame is forgotten.
It's gone away now.
Not dim.
Not weak.
But, I am weak.
So I wander through the night.
Still calling your name.
Clinging to your screen door.
On a summer night.
The flame is forgotten.
It's gone away now.
Not dim.
Not weak.
But, I am weak.
So I wander through the night.
Still calling your name.
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