She never liked bugs,

They crawl and fly and squirm.

They get under rugs,

But she is quite fond of worms.

One day she met this boy,

Who liked such creatures.

He looked at them with joy,

His reactions ignited his features.

She told him once that he reminded her of a butterfly,

He said ”I’m not a butterfly, I’m a moth.”

And that made her reply,

“As a butterfly, you’d be better off.”

But why would she say such a thing?

Moths grow as butterflies do.

They may not have as beautiful as wings,

But they have their own beauty too.

So she listens to her Bug Collector,

He makes her less naive.

In his heart is where he keeps her,

Between the moth wings, where she is weaved.