Moth of the Bosque

Past the curls of Wither's Swash Upon the crest of Cat Head Creek Hidden in the chipping crevices of a rotting tree A labyrinthine of vermin showed to me its wings Stuck beneath the gossamer Buried in strands of fright The sultan and his sycophants Had feasted in plush delight And amidst this sweltering Southern night What lies inside the shadow's part of the light And what does and does not make it out alive Was the moth of the bosque More promising than the king His crown a head of other heads Adorned with honey bees He licks the grin up off his cheeks Until he hears her coming Her bellicose courage a-rumbling As she climbs the remnants on the bark The leader awaits her in the dark Hungry for her butterfly heart But what he found out much too late Was his head to be served on the dinner plate His black wings gone their flicker Alas, they've lost their glimmer As the full moon sets their spirits free The lovers caught in the forest tree She climbs To the one whose ruled her life The one she left behind Only to find He is no longer alive