The sun dips low, the sky turns deep and bruised, A hush descends where daylight was infused. Then, from the damp grass, where the shadows sprawl, A silent signal answers nature's call. A flick, a spark, a tiny amber gleam, A waking wonder in a summer dream. They rise in legions, dots of living light, The silent architects of summer night. Like scattered stardust on a velvet floor, They drift and dance, and then they flash once more. A momentary magic, quick and bold, A story whispered, centuries old. Each tiny bulb, a battery of grace, Ignites a hope in this forgotten place. They sketch their loops, a slow and soft display, Then vanish quickly, fading far away. No words are needed for the silent show, Just where to look, and how the currents flow. Fireflies, they flicker, rise, and fall, The silent lanterns of the night.