On late June nights

under the streetlight of the moon

fireflies become fairies to children

who capture them by hand

and keep them in jelly jars


Crickets, tree frogs and cicadas

chant, “Let them go Let them go;

They have stories to tell you

in your sleep”


For those who free them

from their glass cages,

there will be more firefly nights

For those who do not,

they will find the fairies

dead in the morning


Let them go then, little one,

while you spin in the dark breeze

If you do, they might surprise you

with another blink