Grave of the Fireflies

In the softly lit meadows,
No moon above, no earth below,
With the green orbs floating in melancholy din,
I lay my sister to rest.

Her joyous call rings through the air,
Her tattered doll by her short-cut hair,
Her fruit-drop tin looking worse for wear,
Her once worrisome face, now lies without a care.

In the diminishing glow of the fireflies dying light,
My sister who once shone so bright,
But as that flame flicker's, about to extinguish,
This grave of fireflies, forever remembers her wish.

She wished her brother be by her side,
She wished for tempura, ice cream and pie,
She wished for her mother, in her lonely night,
Yet of all her wishes, she wished for an eternal firefly light.

Little did she know as she lay in the phosphorescent fields,
Amid the fireflies and the tall pine trees,
That her eternal wish manifested true,
Because the firefly may die, and the light may fade,
But my sister's light, infinite and immortal, lives far beyond the grave.

~L.S. Thomas

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