The moth, I disdain

It needn't cause me pain

Harmless it may be

With no venom to me

It flies into my face

No pattern, no grace

A pitiable creature

In purpose and feature

 

For I cannot detect

A trait to respect

The spider spins its yarn

Across a lofty barn

And the bee does strive

To provide for its hive

But the moth helps none

As Icarus to the sun