The Moth

There was a tale, or there will be
Of a horse shoe nail
And a battle lost.

Some small thing, overlooked;
Perhaps a ring
Of little cost.

A wizard’s tower, built of pride
And thoughtless power,
None may escape.

He sits so still; the wind and rain
Are very chill
Upon his face.

I flutter near, I touch his hand,
I feel no fear.
He speaks to me.

I soar high, against the black
Of the night sky.
Now he is free.

- Vison