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In the middle of June when the fireflies swoon,
And the warmth of the sun lingers on,
The dusk pantomimes Mister Moon as he climbs,
And the long light of heaven is drawn.
The complexion of leaves on such temperate eves,
Isn't lost on the creatures of shade,
Yet a lightning bug's dance is for naught but romance,
That eternal game, perfectly played.
Up-and-down thru twilight they sashay their gold light,
Thus insuring their rhythm's just SO,
O'er the untrimmed tall grasses and buds they make passes
At prospects, now drawn to their glow.
But other "bright" creatures seem fond of the features
Of glittering lightning bug lovers,
So with parents discretion the kids take possession,
With jars that have holes in the covers.
The aim of this duty would seem to be beauty -
The soft phosphorescence to see,
And while MOST kids admire that glowing green fire,
They don't always let them go free.
Some squish them with fingers as glowing stuff lingers,
Then write with it, words or their name,
And by lease of this act they've now learned, in fact,
To KILL ... without conscience or blame.
Now, while it might seem that this childish scheme
Only snuffs a few creatures that crawl,
Through it we thus impeach the one we SHOULD teach,
That ALL life is precious ... no matter HOW small.
~ Honorable Mention ~ in the "A Summer's Day Redo" Poetry Contest, Michelle Faulkner, Judge & Sponsor.
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