I marked the funeral pile of summer leaves, <br />The headless stumps and fireflie fluttering the wings, <br />The rustic spade captively stuck to the field. <br />I picked the spade and glided down the glittering rills <br />Where I saw many children earlier gathering fireflies, <br />The mothers gathering awls, the fathers tilling, <br />And babies cooing to partake in chasing fireflies, <br />The masters drinking and the peasants grumbling <br />I grabbed the spade and thought of other way, <br />Than chasing fireflies or grumbling like the peasants. <br />The peasants strives in vain, their rusting spade <br />interpreted their dreams, the fireflies chase through Ignorance. <br />Then I dropped the spade and left the rustic farm <br />To search the undergrowth for the morning stars.<br /><br />Johnny Psalm<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-midnight-walk-in-atazar-sonnet/
