The Gypsy Wandered In

Guileless innocent, you do not do.
Brown gypsy, you are more than what you appear.
A grievous end is what you pursue.

Compound eyes work against you
when a fatal lamp wick lures you near.
Too early seen unknown, you do not do.

The looming porch light, color blue,
is Lepidopterans' despair.
Quit the fruitless path you pursue.

Cedar branches sway a song that soothes
but drives you mad—flaming wings of cashmere,
singed antennae, you do not do.

Earthen moth, the route you flew
blazes wingdust in a flash of tears.
You only attain what you pursue.

You steal a drink from a drop of dew.
You whisper songs of light in my ear
and vanish in the afterglow. You do not do
the grievous end you once pursued.