Fireflies flit and spin in the coming of the summer night.
The leaves rustle on their tall branches as the cool breeze glides by.
Tonight is a perfect night.
They come from their hiding holes.
They come from their nests.
They come from their sunning spots in the middle of the lake
Tonight is the perfect night.
Past the tall grass and into the thicket
They all come trotting, in a swaying line
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