DRAWN TO LIGHT

Dripping heavy like cement on cloth
The beating wings of this here moth
The words that taught a blank display
Dust swept up and flew away
It's not too late for her to see
The lovely things ahead of me
And though a moth for a mind is tough
It never seems to get enough
At least it is to His design
That with this pencil it looks just fine
But hideous it may as well be
For appearances hardly matter to me