summer game

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.