A Poem

This morning I wrote a little poem about the mother moth from Wednesday's painting.
Here it is, raw and unedited:

Lured towards light she fliters and soars, then lands

upon the bark that shields the sap for new spring foliage.

Replete with life, a new generation, she halts,

clutches bark with graceful pause while sap flows upward.

Her sojourn ending she rhythmically lays her eggs,

batches of tiny bubbles cradled within her body's curve
then dropping downward.

There her body lingers while she exhales her final breath.

Pale green leaves sprout from barren twigs attached to limbs

joined to the long, upward trunk of an old tree in our yard.

Roots reach outward just under the earth--roots that feed

sap to the nascent foliage, destined itself to fall to the ground

in autumn, long after the mother moth gave birth.

Have a restful Saturday.
Dianne