The Dreams of a Bug

On the November side of the glass
A huge furry moth
Convinced that if he could get inside
   where the light is
That he could outlive
Winter's deadly passing

But the problem isn't the
Coming of winter's icy knives
   creeping in behind him
Its the little tick tick ticking
   clock in his chest
That will kill him
   despite all his fantasies to the contrary
When at last it rings