Firefly
Firefly
Little firefly
of the summer night,
why do you want to die.
Are you not content enough
to be the dinner
for late birds and early bats,
with their radar eyes.
No, not content enough.
You sweep low
over the lawns of bored summer boys, then
with a flash of green,
you signal your presence to them.
And they slam the lid
of a mason jar
over your head.
And they hope to catch enough of you
so they can pretend to be
medieval monks,
and use the faint glow from the jar
to light their way across
electric lit lawns.
But they won’t catch enough,
and you’ll float around in that glass jar
flashing your little green ass
till you die.
Are you content now, firefly?
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