"This is but one of several 'versions' of this poem..."
Moths drink the tears from eyes of sleeping birds. The same is true of certain butterflies. Sometimes the facts sound much like pretty lies that poet's choose for loveliness of words. I've wondered if the strangest things in life exist just for the sake of poetry, as if God knew that surely we would be in desperate need of things that take a knife
to all the sorrow in this veil of death. Without such wonders we might not endure this world of pain. In beauty there is grace. Perhaps for every sadness there's a breath of love - and in the end all things are pure as virtues etched in Christ's angelic face.
http://www.newscientist.com/article.ns?id=dn10826" ***"Moths drink the tears of sleeping birds"
I like a veil of leaves on summer grass. Their absence shows the path where I have mown. And as I turn to cut another pass, it feels as though I've hemmed the season's gown. The golden-brown confetti on my lawn, kaleidoscopic through the summer haze is like a printed fabric soon withdrawn reminiscent of my passing youthful phase.