THE TEARS OF A MOTH:

In the very dark of the dawn, before the sun is awake,

On the pink-petaled rose, the flower´s thirst is slaked,

By the quenching dew sprinkled by God´s kindly hand,

So that life continues upon this earth´s thirsty arid land,

But upon the rose-bud there is a drop shining on its own,

Falling from the eye of the blind moth who sits all alone.

“Tell me, why do you weep so, little moon-moth?” I ask,

“When upon a rose-bud of such beauty you can sip & bask”,

Trembling, she turned her little blind eyes towards my own,

“I´ve just one day to breed & for today this rose is my home,

No time to see the beauty of God, just lay the eggs, then I die,

My purpose fulfilled & at the hand of the master, I say goodbye.

Never questioning her life´s purpose upon her God´s good earth,

Here to mate, to lay eggs, to propagate her species & give it birth,

She has no sight, for her chore, to see beauty is not ever needed,

Her silent voice, to the world goes unheard & woefully unheeded,

But deep within her soul, she knew in her soft & gentle wise world,

 There was a beauty unseen by her, yet to be revealed & unfurled.