Sounds of muted moths, flying softly by,

To lay on scented petals, beneath a summer sky.

Wings of misty magic, painted lilac rose,

So swing the summer breeze, as poems of short repose.

--

And softly they do wing their way to my sweet slumber,

As shaded I there lay, beneath leaves that own no number,

And summer light alights my place, as lilac moths make way,

To dream and land on my laced eyes in the glow of summer’s day.

--

And crickets start to chirp, in ephemeral throng,

Adding now their chorus, to the moth’s sweet muted song.

Enchanted now in memory, of summers long since past,

I trace the sky’s white clouds, and hope this day will last.

--

And so I find too soon, that dusk must hark my way,

Chasing muted moths, from the symphony of day.

And though the crickets still do chirp, and fill my ears with song,

Dusk now twilights coming night, the day I’d loved now gone.