Bailey Stevenson


The Firefly

Make haste, foolish one, for the darkenss is nigh,
And with it comes the dreary sky,
Which confuses your father's faulty eyes,
The day you caught a firefly.

Your mother bakes an apple potpie,
And in your greediness you smell it nearby,
You steal the pie in late July,
The day you caught a firefly.

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