A whited silver moth
Beautied upon my screen
Like stout against the froth
The evening steep it seemed
This dainty faery fly
Like us women and our words
Was looked like flittering by
Just passing and unheard
But worms have wings
Where porch lights bling
My soul still sings
As the loon song brings
From the wake, the tune
From the May, the June
Until comes so near
That frenetic fear
Of making it here
My father waits my mother debates
The time of my arrival
No pedal will brake me coming here
It's about my soul's survival
And gladly meet will hearts and wine
And words exchanged when I am fine
And cottage life is so sublime
Like conversations with my mom
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