With frantic flying through the nights
he searched among the pretty lights
to find the brightest one out there
he knew it had to be somewhere
He was driven by the fame
which would be placed upon his name
if ever he did find the one
as bright and pretty as the sun
Then in his search he saw a glow
that beckoned him from way below
He left his perch as down he flew,
down to the red and yellow hue
It was the brightest light he saw
And when he flew with utmost awe
to touch the light of yellow-red
he did not know he'd soon be dead
Now isn't it a wicked shame
that as he touched the pretty flame,
he did not know it was a trap
and he was sizzled with a zap
Those gauzy wings he wore with grace
Which flapped and flew at break neck pace
Are burnt and battered, worn and torn
No longer can they lift his form
If you crave the lights of lime
like the firefly in this rhyme,
Do not be blinded by the glare
and wind up in a lethal snare.
