The moth, to shed its
dreary life of darkness seeks firelight
for warmth and light

As it circumambulates in flight
it is filled with light and might

When being around light
becomes too much delight,
wants to plunge straight
into this light delight

Then thinks, when me am
willing to burn in him,
he stands straight
to be bright

And the flame speaks:
O ye of meager flight!

Yet to know, burning bright,
it is me that burns through the night

waiting for a moth of meager flight
to make him bright and light