Reflections Upon Watching a Burning Candle
I strike a sulfur match to light the wick.
Soft tear-drop flame begins to slowly rise,
And flick'ring shadows 'round the room do trick;
Warm waxen drops roll down: the candle cries.
Tall battlements arise to guard the blaze,
Disfigured waxen pillars dripping tears
Into a frozen moat around the base,
Which grows as candle's dissolution nears.
The waxen pool engulfs the ancient head;
Weak candle blazes high to catch its breath;
Then slowly dies away in waxen bed,
And darkness marks the silent candle's death.
Poor candle, born to live and die in flame.
Is not our fate in life one and the same?