Hello and welcome to Cook and Crank, the Cosmic Poetry Podcast. I'm your host, Simon Pole, the Cosmic Poet. Our poem today is called The Moth and the Ladybug. Now we rarely notice the lives of the lower orders around us, don't we? I mean the bugs and the beetles, the mice and the minnows. But their toil and heartaches and troubles are much like ours, aren't they? And this has been noticed by poets since time immemorial. I bet you they held forth about it around the cave fire, while the Mastodons howled outside or whatever menaced them. And this well trod path will meander down after the break. The Moth and the Ladybug A moth he does revisit, the husk of his cocoon, underneath the night cloud and the blinking moon, all around in starlight, which his wing tips lit, he does his waggle dancing proud, his waggle dancing proud in ecstasy of flight. Oh then I did creep my way a bug upon the ground, each groping foot of mine to the earth was bound, each mound a mountain high, and each dusty day I wiggled up my spindled spine, up my spindled spine, to spy the open sky. Now among the stars I glide, the moon my bosom friend, crystal stars light my home endless end to end. Yet sometimes do I muse by the hunter's side, though vaulted heavens far I roam, in heavens far I roam, what earthlore did I lose? So the moth he coast to think upon the cocoon spent, and that fat creeping child who to earth was bent, each profuse waving reed and the pools they drink, a knotted thriving chaos wild, a thriving chaos wild, a bud and soil and weed. I recall the ladybug, who on the broad leaf dwelt, and the quick able shrew, he of glossy pelt, cool the rain fell with dawn, on the hole he dug, and after toil sweet slumber knew, the shrew sweet slumber knew, lay down he with a yawn. A thousand more clogged the field, at work within the wood, hard with tooth and with paw, they the riggers stood, and them done flew away, to dust others yield, but all labor on high she saw, the ladybug she saw, and to the moth did say I cannot fly like you, my stiff wings only jump, stuck half above, half below, pause I on the stump, haunting this earthbound lot, which you former knew, a clay encrusted horror show, clay crusted horror show, whose anguish you've forgotten Mr Shrew he died last week, sunk down in toil unhurt, gnarled his toes like the knots which the oak tree girt, and his flesh where it lays, there the maggots peak, remorseless is the spot which rots, remorseless spot it rots all of our earthly days. Precious is the memory, so long in mind fixed fast, of birds who piping played as they flitted past. Bright as gold was the tune of their melody, and only these good thoughts stayed, for only good thoughts stayed with those who reach the moon. I recall those gems of youth, and only them I see. I who roost in a star, I have cocoon free. Easy works, healing song are but half the truth. Great hurts are small when viewed afar, hurts small when viewed afar by those of absence long. So the moth he drifts away to where the moon shines bright, and the stars blink and boil in the weightless night. Lady Bug draws her breath and for all doth say Remember us who on earth toil, remember us who toil, for our abode is death. You have just heard The Moth and the Ladybug from the poetry collection Poems for Ocean. I'm your cosmic poet and host, Simon Pohl. Visit the website SimonPole.ca for more cosmic poetry, including the book we've just read from. We'll be back soon on the Cook and Crank Podcast with more readings from the Poems for Ocean collection. Until then, remember, poetry is the water of life, though whiskey might be too. Goodbye.