Fireflies by Fred Chappell
The children race now here by the ivied fence,
gather squealing now there by the lily border.
The evening calms the quickened air , immense
and warm; its veil is pierced with fire . The order
of space discloses as pair by pair porch lights
carve shadows. Cool phosphors flare when dark
permits yearning to signal where , with spark
and pause and spark, the fireflies are , the sites
they spiral when they aspire , with carefree ardor
busy, to embrace a star that draws them thence.
Like children we stand and stare , watching the field
that twinkles where gold wisps fare to the end
of dusk, as the sudden sphere , ivory shield
aloft, of moon stands clear of the world's far bend.
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