It was a chill, moonless Tirdas night,
When on my window did alight,
A humble torchbug all aglow,
Who, passing by, thought to say hello.

"How do you fare?" I did ask.
As in his light, my face did bask.
"Well and better still," said he,
"Though I had to leave my humble tree."

I thought that was sad and so I said,
"Where will you now rest your sleepy head?"
Imagined I, that it was shelter he did seek,
But as a bug, he was asking meek.

"I leave tonight for southern shores,
Where I will winter in due course."
Then before I could stammer a reply,
He was aloft, flying away into the sky.

So I pondered to myself alone:
Here I thought he lost his home,
And upon my abode, he looked with envy,
But in the end, the jealous one was me.