Ribbons-and-Bells

It is a green roofed house Good and hidden in the trees Where velvet voiced grandfathers sit on the porch Slumped in their chairs, Faces turned up To count the stars And in the dark you can see them smile. They are feral children Running barefoot in the fields Holding old jam jars full of fireflies. They move in packs, like wolves Faces turned up To shout at the moon And in the dark you can see them smile.