This poem is about a person addicted to smoking. On a cold winter’s night, this person is fighting addiction; shaking as he smokes, and takes in the “poisonous, sweet perfume.” This person knows it is bad for him- calling the smoke poisonous and deadly, yet, it is still sweet. The “I can’t do it, I can’t, I must!” is the person fighting with himself, trying to stop from lighting another match. Yet the person can’t stop-comparing the urge to smoke to “fingers searching for gold.” And, his “friends” the fireflies come back again. The fireflies really stand for the ashes that come from the cigarette, the ashes of giving in to the temptations of smoking, to the temptations of the bad. The fireflies are nonexistent, and are the only friends of a sad addict-just the ashes floating alongside him