Late in the Evening
I'm sitting with my candle,
The flame is flickering.
There is no breeze,
There is no wind.
So why does it flicker?
Does it react to thought?
Does it react to actions from afar?
Does it flicker for the "hell of it?"
I don't know.
But I'd like to know why.
Fire seems to have a life.
The flame lives.
It's life is governed by the length of the candle
And then it is snuffed out.
Yet it's life was not in vain.
The flame causes shadows
That dance upon the walls
With movement and grace
And gives me pleasure.
And makes me wonder.
The aroma from the candle is pleasant
It fills the room.
It fills my mind with memories
Of long ago.
Life remembered.
Small circle of light
Within the darkened room
Much life within
And without.
Thank you candle.
anonymous
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