Little Moth

He didn’t know a lamp could burn,
Poor dainty little thing,
So back again he did return,
And burnt his tiny wing!

A fairy heard him crying there,
So like a loving elf
She found she had a wing to spare,
The kind she wore herself.

She fixed it on—her dainty wing—
With bits of softest cloth;
Now half of him’s a fairy thing,
The other half is moth!