Fireflies

Fireflies, we chase them we admire them. At illi evanescet

The summer breeze,

500 fireflies,

Their light crude and wild,

Covering the night sky,

Their number covers all around them.

The autumn wind,

200 fireflies,

The rest flew away.

No au revoir,

Yet those who stayed,

Their light was crude and wild.

The winter chill,

20 remain,

The other 180 ran away.

Est-ce que tu m'aimes?

The light of the 20 gave no sight to see,

Nor beauty to behold.

Just a shadow of what it once was.

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[John the Baptist]

But of course they will return. Unless climate change kills them all.