The Candle and the Flame

Wax, lard, or what you will, The candle's form remains until The wick consumes it slowly on, Sometimes, if lucky, from dusk to dawn. But think awhile of what's more deep, The flame's the soul with the flicker and leap. When still and calm bright steady it is, But shaken and stirred with the slightest breeze. The flame is the soul, dispeller of dark, It brightens, and burns, with but a spark. The candle, per se, is worth only the flame, A corpus, a carrier, worth only it's name. Great pride do we take in form not context, The purpose we forget in meaningless quest. Our health is our wealth, remember it for sure, But forget not it's purpose - the flame to endure!