A moth doesn't seem to glow,
Color is rather hard to show,
The wings that do drape,
Create a wary cape.
Under the safety of winged cloak,
Will not chirp, prod, or poke,
The moth is scared to open her wings,
For they are not the prettiest things.
But if only she knew, if only she¿d try,
She¿d find that she is a Butterfly.