I remember when I was young
and playing under the afternoon sun.
It’s glow shines golden as it touched the ground where are the kids and moths are found.

I ran to the outfield and saw
flying bugs from brown to blue of no flaw.
One pretty purple moth tapped my shoulder
and called to me “don’t you want to
chase a moth for today?”
I smiled wide and started to sprint
after it, but it loved to skip too quick
especially when I touched its wing tip.

At last it grew tired and sat on a flower
hoping I didn’t see it take a sun shower.
The dignified, daring Queen moth
didn’t see me creeping behind her like a sloth;
just so she wouldn’t leave so soon,
I slipped my hands right on top of
the queen as she flapped her wings
like a dove in spring.

I called to my friends “I caught one!
I finally caught my first moth!”
They grinned and screamed to me “Well done
now let it go. They are rare to see
so always remember to let it be.”
I pulled off my hands and it flew away
leaving a special mark that would stay.
A gift to never forget when we had first met;
her treasured wing imprint,
a sort of ‘good luck’ for me
when I setted her free.

I will forever remember when I was young
and playing under the afternoon sun.
As I step back, I understand
the innate connection between nature and man.
We lose our touch once we mature
but now we want nature’s allure;
back to the lush fields
and under the bliss light
that shall irrevocable be our birth right.

The Mothcatcher

One of my fondest memories as a child was chasing moths after school. My elementary school had this large open field where moths would flutter about freely. Although this poem primarily focuses on the chase, which was why it was so much fun in the first place, I loved how moths could be so magestic