Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Soft summer nights belonged to fireflies,
their silence and the fiddling of crickets.
We used to sit then on the porch
and nothing needed to be said except:
Look at those fireflies. Listen--between chirps--
our green beans and tomatoes are growing,
and if you want to grow, too, get off to bed.

We were not afraid of the dark.
There were no bears and no ghosts.
News was faraway, a week, a month,
and most of it got lost along the way.

It was easy, floating away to sleep
to their swing's slow, comforting creak,
the lullaby of their low murmurings,
not then--we didn't know--about fireflies.

Jim 2/10