Last year in my english class (or maybe it was expository writing... i cant remember, they were taught by the same teacher) I saw a descriptive poem about a moth and a candle and the moth burning into flames... if i recall it was a female poet and it might have been on a ohio reading comp. test thingy (i cant remember what thats called either) if you can help me find that poem i would be very thankful.
Could these lyrics be your missing poem?
MOTH (Anne Lister)
I flew too close to the candle
And I think that my wings are aflame
I should never have come so close to you
It seems I won't leave again
There should be some kind of warning
To those of us who fly by night
To beware of the cold air of morning
And to keep away from the light
Oh the light that it cast out was gentle
And I'd been far too long in the cold
And all of the dark seemed so lonely
And all of your welcome seemed gold
And alone outside your window
There's just the pale gleam of far distant stars
You could search for heaven for ever
But at least you'd be safe where you are
Words and music by Anne Lister.
Source: lyric sheet accompanying Anonyma 'Burnt Feathers' Fellside LP FE059 (198
no thats not it... sorry... but thanks for trying
the lesson of the moth
I was talking to a moth
the other evening
he was trying to break into
an electric light bulb
and fry himself on the wires
why do you fellows
pull this stunt i asked him
because it is the conventional
thing for moths or why
if that had been an uncovered
candle instead of an electric
light bulb you would
now be a small unsightly cinder
have you no sense
plenty of it he answered
but at times we get tired
of using it
we get bored with the routine
and crave beauty
fire is beautiful
and we know that if we get
too close it will kill us
but what does that matter
it is better to be happy
for a moment
and be burned up with beauty
than to live a long time
and be bored all the while
so we wad all our life up
into one little roll
and then we shoot the roll
that is what life is for
it is better to be a part of beauty
for one instant and then cease to
exist than to exist forever
and never be a part of beauty
our attitude toward life
is come easy go easy
we are like human beings
used to be before they became
too civilized to enjoy themselves
and before i could argue him
out of his philosophy
he went and immolated himself
on a patent cigar lighter
i do not agree with him
myself i would rather have
half the happiness and twice
but at the same time i wish
there was something i wanted
as badly as he wanted to fry himself
Archy and Mehitabel
Don Marquis was an American newspaperman and humorist who wrote for the New York Sun and the New York Herald Tribune. Archy was a literary cockroach who typed one letter at a time by landing on the keys-no capital letters-and Mehitabel was a cat who served as a foil for Archy's commentary on human behavior. The essays and poems were collected in a volume named after the two characters.
The Moth and the Flame
Elder J.A. Rowell, Sr.
The somber shadows of the night,
Blot out the summer day,
Around the glittering candle light,
The moths begin to play.
Around they circle, without fear,
A very dangerous game,
Closely, playing very near,
To be caught in the flame.
Oh gaudy, brilliant colored fly,
Why are you not aware,
When you have seen your comrades die,
Caught in the candle’s snare?
A fascinating, drawing power,
For all moths, must exist,
Within the flame at twilight hour,
Which they cannot resist.
As we traverse life’s devious path,
At every crook and turn,
We see examples of the moth,
A lesson we should learn.
We often look and then forget,
The certain deadly fate,
We, too, are caught fast in the net,
That surely does await.
Do we act really wiser than
The moth that kissed the flame?
We watch the fall of sinful man,
And follow on the same.
Beware the candle flame’s allure,
At morning, noon and night,
And flee the things which are impure,
Which hinders upward flight.
This isn't the one you're looking for (no flame), but it's a moth poem and i think it's rather nice -
The Head Next to Mine on the Pillow
When I awoke in the morning
There on the pillow beside me lay the moth.
His fluffy head was still tucked down
Like a late sleeper's, but the eyes, those fascinated
Lamps that had drunk so deep of light
During the night, the eyes were dull.
And a soft powder had fallen
From the tattered wings folded
In the high final dive.
I might have been, perhaps,
The last thing he saw as the light flooded
His gentle body - why, yes, it could be
I was a big thing in his life at the last,
Enigmatic as an Easter Island statue,
Before the tide took him out
To where there is only flying
And all the filaments are friendly.
(when i woke up this morning there was a huge huntsman spider beside me - not quite the same poetic experience)
sorry none of these are them... they are all really nice... and i thank you for trying.
Have you tried asking the teacher?
I would but I dont know his email address and I am currently out of the country.