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At Night MAG
March 28, 2013
I remember the song of the crickets
As the tales played with the twitch of their legs
The sticky sweet apples overflowing
Their graham cracker crust
And the twang of a popped string
Slapping the wood of the fret
Slurping down popsicles
Having the juice cling to your chin
The stars were twinkling fairy dust
And dew flickered over the ground
The grass smelled like sunlight
The sunlight shone like gold
But we all knew that night was the best
If you could pry your eyes open for just long enough
At night the fireflies danced
© Jen S., Schroon Lake, NY
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