Secret Spy

Many may think a moth,
Is just a butterfly of the night.
A musty, Dusty version,
Of its brothers whom are bright.

But a moth is in fact,
A traveller of deceit.
Spying on the unknowing,
Waiting for a treat.

Sneaking in through windows,
In the dead of the night.
Listening to your secrets,
Before taking flight.

You see, a moth
Is not only drawn to a flame.
It’s drawn to the promise,
Of learning someone’s shame.

For when it knows your story,
No matter how big or small.
It will disappear into the shadows,
As if never there at all.

So be careful what you say,
After the sun has set.
Because you never know who’s listening,
Unnoticed and unmet.

Todays poetry contest submission was written by Kate Carr.


Do you think it could possibly be one of the best new poems of 2013?