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The Birth of the Firefly

by Doris M. Kenyon

Dewdrop trembled on an aspen leaf;
Above, a nightingale
Sent through the dark his first low note of grief,
Across the shadowy vale;

And as that note throbbed on the sentient air,
Wrung from a heart forlorn,
The dewdrop slipped into the dusk, and there
A firefly was born.

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