Skip to: Content
Skip to: Site Navigation
Skip to: Search


The Gift

By Godfrey John / December 7, 1995



You sent to me a moth

Skip to next paragraph

as pale as any bone.

It lay with quiet wing;

it would not fly away.

Some silence of yourself,

some secret of the moon,

it solaced on my sleeve

until the woken day -

until the thought of loss

or broken hope had flown.

You sent to me a moth;

you did not tell me why.