A candle burns so bright and true
In its solitude, it continually glows
Tempting winds may try and blow
Its light will flicker but dance its own
the glory of a candle though
Lies on the Candlemaker alone.
He sculpts and moulds
And pour the wax
Determines the size and shape
Into a lovely design
The wick, of choiced length and width
Is also decided by the One making.
Must it not be forgotten, too
A candle shines only when lighted up
By the One holding the Fire
And so a candle lives
Its existence for its purpose:
To light is to give
And to live is to give light
Burning silently amidst the shadows
A candle melting oh so slow
As no more wax left to drip
The final embers glow its brightest
when its candle wick is close to nothing more.