Last Hurrah

Lots of little moths are flitting
Near the bushes and the trees,
Such a frenzied sort of flutter,
They might stir a little breeze.

Some are solo, but more likely,
Most are traveling in groups,
Do-si-do-ing through the flora,
Doing crazy loop-di-loops.

In some spots, they’re like confetti
Which the wind has set a'whirl.
Guess their instincts have informed them
They’ve just time for one more twirl.