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Poem


thru the middle of June
    when the fireflies swoon
      and the warmth of the day lingers on
       the late dusk pantomimes
      with the moon as it climbs
   and the curtains of daylight are drawn

       the dance of the leaves
   on warm summer eves
 isn't lost on the creatures of dark
but a lightning bug's dance
 is for naught but romance
    as its love life depends on a spark

up-and-down through the night
    they waltz curves with their light
      making sure that their rhythm's just SO
       weaving reeds in tall grasses
      blinking soft-lighted passes
   at the prospects now drawn to their glow

       but other "bright" creatures
   are charmed by the features
 these shimmering lightning bug lovers
and as parents direct them
 their children collect them
    in jars with holes punched in the covers

the endgame of their duty
    would seem to be beauty
      those dazzling scintillations, to see
       and while most admire
      insect glimmer and fire
   when finished, not all set them free

you see …

       some squash them with fingers
   while that glowing stuff lingers
 so they write with it, words, or their name
they continue this act
 hence learning, in fact
    to kill without conscience … or blame

now though it might seem
    that this childhood scheme
      only ends a few creatures that crawl
       that lesson will impeach
      the one we should teach
   that ALL life is precious, no matter …

       how small.

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