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