Of Moths, Spiders, And Butterflies. Poem by Strydar Enox

Fluttering the wings have caste.
O're the land the butterflies swarm.
Mountains they conquer, forests they feast;
Delicious nectar they fly to seek.
Quicker they move as their meal enters sight.
Flittingly their wings pound harder.

Then comes the moth woken by night.
Searching and searching for its moonlight delight.
It jumps off its home, Four wings flap about.
As one they beat; as four they shout,
Onward it fly, quickly it spies,
Though out the night its mind despises.

Spiders spin their threads of silk.
Weaving, knitting, turning, turning.
Intricate designs they master.
Causing other bugs disaster.
With one bite they slay their prey.
Then they get wrapped a feast for another day.

Moths, and spiders, Butterflies and Martyrs.
Each unique and mostly farther;
Through the woods and in the shade.
Now comes all manner of insects to play.
Spiders, moths, butterflies too.
Oceans of Grass A world now found anew.