The Learnèd Moth

Pity the poor moth:
Suppose Evolution had taught it not to rush at candle flames,
To circle away from light stanchions, torchières,
To wait until some other of its kind
Has determined the potential for death
Inherent in the fascinating.

What would this enlightened moth do –
Having encoiled its genetic lesson,
Flitted knowledgeably past tempting lamps and torches,
Bridged great gaps of darkness with learnèd wings,
Avoided every fluorescent problem –
When confronted with the Northern Lights?

Who has seen God's glory in the northern skies
And remained unmoved?
What can even such a savant do
Confounded by the brilliance of certain death?

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