Poor Candle Forlorn
Weep no more sad candle
for the world has not ended.
Star still blaze
in the streets
above our heads
and river
rush in meandering
languages to the sea.
Even comets still remain
to billiard the heavens
arcs.
Cry no more
your liquid tears
knotting on the indifference
of small table.
No worries my little candle
for you bless me in the purity
of your ebbing flow
of flickering the scripture
on the hymns
of my life's impossible corners...
Copyright © Andrew Rymill | Year Posted 2012
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