A little firefly would always be free
Flashing its bulb happily
But once a curious person sees,
Trapped and shall never see the glees.

This said firefly must have a choice
To help itself, or join the noise
Of its new "owner", in a tiny world of moist
Where everything is not its choice.

Who is this firefly and what had it done?
To the world that might claim it already gone
Once a liberal insect, buzzing from afar
Now just a mere speck in the dark.

But it had a decision to make,
Be free or be fake,
And if I were that bug what should I choose,
A life of quietness or a life without clues?