Firefly

A poem composed by Samantha (Year 12 Advanced English)

In the hush of the garden,

stone lanterns lean with age

their moss-softened edges cradling dusk.

A koi turns slowly in the pond,

ripples blooming outward

like the quiet breath of an old truth.

Bamboo clicks gently in the breeze

a language with no urgency,

only rhythm.

And there,

just above the curve of a raked path,

a single firefly pulses.

Not with reason,

not with need

but because it must.

Its light moves like thought:

brief,

but whole.

Passing through maple and shadow

as incense rises

from the hand of a monk

unbound,

without a destination.

It carries no song,

no final cry-

only the hush of having endured.

The wings remember the storm,

the rain that bent them.

But memory no longer sharpens

against the present.

Around it, the garden is still

sunlight caught in the curve of a teacup,

warmth pressing against the earth’s quiet skin.

No one watches.

Nothing waits.

There is peace in the unmarked path,

in choosing not to name what was lost.

Even in daylight,

its glow is soft

a small vow kept,

without ceremony.

The firefly drifts on

not healed,

not whole,

but free.