whenever the wind whispers tales of adventure;
i get near to becoming a sun-dyed hyacinth;
for i never swung from vine to vine nor found a treasure;
but i liked the safety of seclusion in this labyrinth.the chaos of the scorching day is pleasant for not even a bit;
it is nothing like the sweet night in its sacred stillness;
most only cherish the light and not the opposite;
there's serenity in being alone, there's truth in sadness.i've been singing in the dark long enough to bud;
should be content but feels empty in my petals;
being a moonflower meant to bloom with no one in my pod;
i may like peace but my heart is not made of metals.to seek my desire, i don't need to take that one-time curve;
i just wish for a hawkmoth to treat me as special as i deserve.