In the deep, dark woods, north of the falls,
A creature lived, so slow and so small.
An upside-down bear, with fur so fine,
Hung from the trees in an elegant line.
She slept and searched for food with grace,
Dreaming of flying in a nighttime place.
To soar through the sky with the moon in sight,
Exploring the stars on a magic flight.
But little she knew, her wings were near,
In the form of moths, so small and dear.
Together they’d fly, higher than before,
And find a home to love and explore.
This is the tale of the Smoth and her flight,
A story of friendship, of bravery’s might.
She stared at the stars, as they twinkled bright,
And dreamed of soaring through the moonlit night.
Floating on currents, up high and free,
Soaring upside down, where the sky would be.
She climbed the highest and tallest tree,
And gazed at the sky, hoping to see
A pair of wings that would soon appear,
To carry her far to a new frontier.
The moth on the sloth’s back was quick and was light,
It zipped and it zagged, like a star in the night.
Around the slow sloth, it would flutter and dance,
A blur in the air, in a moth-like trance.
The moth, ever busy, darted and dashed,
Flew circles and loops, as it fluttered and flashed.
The sloth barely noticed, she moved so slow,
While the moths were a flurry, a dance and a show.
Then one still night, the moth flew low,
And saw stumps where trees should grow.
The ground was scarred, the roots pulled wide…
He watched as his home had lost its pride.
He called to his friends, every moth in the air,
With a flap and a flutter, they gathered with care.
They hatched a bold plan, in the hush of the night,
To build wings for the sloth, to help her take flight.
They zipped and they zagged through the hush of the trees,
Tugging at petals and catching the breeze.
They fluttered in patterns, they circled and dashed,
A shimmer of wings in a moonlight flash.
They gathered fine threads with a golden gleam,
And moved as one, like a bright-buzzing stream.
With each tiny twist, each turn and glide,
They shaped something wondrous, and slipped inside.
They stepped back at last, their work complete,
A living design, both fragile and fleet.
Not feathers nor fabric, but flutter and flow,
A wing born of moths, shining in the moons glow.
They wove themselves in, wingtip to wing,
A chorus of motion, a shimmering ring.
Not built to be worn, nor tied with a thread,
But lifted by many, and gently led.
The sloth barely stirred, her breath soft and deep,
As the moths built dreams while she stayed asleep.
But deep in her heart, a hope took flight,
To drift beyond treetops, into the night.
They beat their wings in a trembling hum,
A song of effort…together as one.
The weight was great, the strain was real,
But hope gave strength that fear could steal.
Working together, their strength was strong,
They lifted her up, and they flew along.
The sloth spread wide, her wings in air,
Floating softly without a care.
They flew beyond forests, beyond what they knew,
Where the night paints the sky in silver and blue.
Through galaxies hidden in quiet night air,
They soared past wonder, and floated past care.
They danced with the owls, shared secrets with bats,
And brushed through the tails of celestial cats.
The world stretched wide, with stories untold,
And the Smoth, once so timid, was brave and bold.
She learned to be patient, to drift and to steer,
They learned to move gently, to hover near.
Together they found what neither could claim,
A creature with purpose, a soul with a name.
Now they fly not as many, and not as one,
But as something new, since their journey begun.
The moths give motion, the sloth gives peace.
In the Smoth, their powers find perfect release.
She’s safe in the skies, and calm in the trees,
A soul set adrift on the softest of breeze.
In the deep, dark woods, north of the falls,
Where moonlight drips and starlight calls,
The Smoth still dreams with her moths in flight.
A whisper of wonder in the hush of night.
“Copyright 2020 by Sam Raife All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.”