In my garden,
I stared at the stars above—
how they lit the night,
how they danced with the moon.
So distant, so mysterious,
they made me curious.
I longed to know them,
to touch the glow that seemed to give my world its light.
So far away—
so untouchable—
I spent my life watching them.
But it wasn't the stars
that lit my garden.
It was the fireflies.
They weren't high with the moon,
but here—beneath my feet.
Small, yes.
But gentle.
And if you look closely,
you'll see:
each one carries its own light,
soft and unwavering.
Even more peaceful,
more intimate,
than the distant stars above.
And now, just as I've begun
to see their quiet beauty,
they're gone.