Poem 3: Firefly

Dusk fills the darkening azure sky as the sun descends behind the horizon. The girl ceases her skipping through the field. Grass comes up to her waist as she leaps. Sitting upon a log, the boy watches as she raises her enclosed fist. He tilts his head and rests his chin on his elbow. The cool breeze rustles her copper hair, but her gaze is pointed down and not at him. And then, from within her palm, deep golden light emerges. Little dots trail out from between her fingers and float towards him. He lifts one index finger to lightly tap one of the luminescent citrine spots. The tiny insect flutters away from him on delicate, filmy wings, leaving behind a zig-zag trail of gold.

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