(Written from the name of 21 Moths)


The moon crosses the sky like a lunar hornet, it’s angle shades the green carpet, most differently, as if seeking shelter, a safer haven.
Why wouldn’t it, outside roam ruby and scarlet tigers, hungry for the moons light, any form of light.
from atop the chimneys, with soot covered caps, the chimney sweepers keep them at bay with their rods, while in the windows...