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

Johnny Psalm

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-midnight-walk-in-atazar-sonnet/