When we are unthinking moths,
Lives depend on certain shields,
That cover the dazzling flames,
Calling us from open fields
The paper or glass protects
Our anxious, wispy wings,
From the promises of fire
And other such man-made things.
Sometimes we breach through the light
And we, fluttering, burn;
Because you didn’t screen the glare
And we could never learn.
Hearts Still Care 