The sky wrapped us in a cover tight,
warming us in the mountain night.
Fireflies dancing in radiant white,
A cricket plays its last chord in the twilight.

I wish the dance would never fade,
I sit on the steps, by wonder swayed.
The vine, with its tendrils, brushes my hair,
Whispering tales of the childhood flare.

Of nights with my brother in fields of grain,
Inviting the fireflies to join in our game.
We would hide them gently inside our hands,
And secretly steal them away to our home.

But Nana would scold from the doorway’s glow –
“Come inside, children, it’s time, you know.”