Our Moths Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

I gladly tell I am a moth,
I dwell on windowsills,
my home is in the Land of Froth
there's valleys and green hills.
No vodka will stand in my way
no germs may cramp my style
I wait until I hear you say
to meet me down the aisle.
No church has ever pulled my strings
no barrister would do,
but you, I'd take you on my wings
because I'm drawn to you.
A moth, they say will seek the light
which is a cruel lie,
we search the globe, night after night
until the day we die.