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Dance Of The Fireflies
Nights turned bleak –
No sparkles hung in it.
They have gone without goodbye.
Moon has ran out of glow,
And out of favour with fading distant lights.
The glow flies the environment invited.
A quarter before night’s final hour –
On their own they came.
In apparent gallantry –
Small species of emitting stars,
Coming from far away caravans,
Arriving in multitude dusts.
A new season has come.
Their dancing just signalled.
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