Chrysalis Cartographers
When Luna Saturne hears her Dad
Complain of moths at work,
She wonders why this makes him sad
And not be quite the perk –
Because his line is publishing,
She somehow understands,
They must be atlas moths, whose wings
Are wider than her hands.
Their caterpillars take their chance,
As fat as sausage-rolls,
By hiding on the Swiss-cheese plants –
That’s why they’re full of holes.
She pictures them about the lift-shaft,
Drinking ink and glue,
And beating wings with such a down-draught,
Papers fly askew.
They’re dancing round fluorescent tubes,
And hogging AC vents,
And stealing wayward sugar cubes
For shredder-paper tents.
But soon her Dad must cut her cloth –
They’re smaller than she wished.
So now, it seems, both dream and moth
Must be downsized, and squished.
Rhyming Couplets 