Playful fireflies under the fir,
flirt with Night's darkness;
Night's stillness insults them,
Being aloof and utterly cold.
Flashy display of love,
trying to get her attention!
And Night couldn't care less;
For her taste is grave and sombre...
For Night is of the pristine moon,
Of dark clouds, of soft shadows,
Her fancy captured by Serenity
As Silence on her froze.
Fireflies distract her calm,
Silly jarring distasteful lights!
Yet the fireflies pine for Night:
They burn themselves
trying to reach out to her,
Igniting themselves
with tacky green lights,
crying out, Let me close!
They fly about madly
for a moment of Night's attention.
The flies have their hearts on fire,
And their fault is that it shows.
And Night chooses to look through them,
Yet through Night their love glows.
