Rising fireflies o'er darkening fields,
Myriads of tiny angels, signaling the news:
Soon gone are summer sparks,
Brief joys of which we never tire.
Slapping thighs, along with a few mosquitoes,
As stories meander in the dimming light;
Water's magnet still attracting
Splashing children too soon grown;
Even quieting voices sharing crosses
Make hearts glow in the peace of the stilling night;
Summer sparks become dying embers
Unless remembrance be over them blown.