Upturned faces light up in blues, reds, golds, and greens as the sky bursts with fireworks,
Loud booms that as first surprise and cause dogs to bark,
The falling remnants of the fireworks look like falling stars,
Disappearing before they hit the ground.
Little warm, soft hands point up at the sky as children say Look, mommy! Look, daddy! from their perched spot atop their father’s shoulders.
The magic has made us all children again,
Filled with joy at the simple pleasure of explosives on a dark summer night,
The scent of fireworks is not unpleasant but familiar,
Excitement rises as the ending is near,
For we all know that when it comes to fireworks, there is nothing cliché about saying what is true in this case, the best is saved for last.