Being the odd, being the moth
There were hundreds of them.
All dull coloured.
Assembled around the incandescent lamp on my wall.
Some moving, some still.
Unaware of the morning chill,
They continued to
Enchant the holy rhymes,
For the endurance of this
Bubble universe.
Thanking the creator
For perceiving the spiritual secrets of the world
With in these miniature wings.
In a hollow world,
Which rotates on the axis of beauty,
Where everything depends on the
Dazzling butterfly glamour,
I apologize for asking this
Ridiculous question.
Have you ever seen moths in daylight?