Yponomeuta cagnagella

A moth takes flight, in pale costume. With wings so white, and dots of black, It dances in the moonlight, never to lack. The spindle ermine, a sight so true. A head so white, like snow so pure, It flutters and floats, with grace to endure. On its forewings, a pattern complete. From top to bottom, they gently flow, Guiding the moth, wherever it may go. Contrasting the white, in a beautiful display. A symphony of colors, in the night sky, As the spindle ermine soars up high. Attracted to light, without a care. A creature of beauty, so delicate and fine, The spindle ermine, a marvel divine. Random page: BHP Billiton plc