"Candle Light"



The little candle burns its wick,
With fiery whisper drops a drip,
A passion only seen from near,
A slowly shrinking, darting tip.

A sea of swirling colors burn,
A swooping tail escaping term,
Glad to light in darkened hour,
A cry of smoke with every turn.

Oh little candle, light your fire,
Burn atop your ivory spire,
Melt until but mound of wax,
For of your light we never tire

This poem is about: 
Our world


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