To the inconsequential moth

Who fluttered haplessly into

What was left of my bath water,

“I’m sorry you did that,” I rebuked,

“And now your faerie dust is gone,

Washed completely clean.

But you cannot fly without it,

And now you’re going down the drain,

Just because you yearned

For cleanliness.

Better for you had you remained

Dirty and unremorseful!”

But then a child came in by the tub,

Just in time to see the moth go down,

And hearing the refrain 

Of my funeral dirge for it,

The child peered through.

“Oh no, MaMá,” he cheerfully said.

“The moth will no more be dead

Than you or I today.

It’s simply sliding down a tube

That takes it to another world

Where he won’t need to fly.

He can merely imagine where

He wants to be and what he wants to do, 

And suddenly, he’ll be there,

Doing it.”

Thank god for little children.

-jenn