Summer Evening in a French Garden

How is it we got to talking,
As we sat out the light
Of a summer evening,
About fireflies?
How they danced in the air
Of our childhood
Making little holes of light
All around in our soul
That now dance as we watch them
In the vast darkness of our minds
Together in the growing dusk
Of the garden?

And that they’re different from
The glowworms of France
Whose little fires sit in ditches
And, in such stillness, signal mates.
No children run
and scoop these into jars
to make those lanterns that will shine
and glitter in the darkness
Of the sleep-night by their beds

Or do they,
The children in France?