The Candle burns a precise and
even white As incense settles into twilight.
Pure is the air, delicate and
right As thread-like silk clouds weave into night.
Bliss brings unbounded to bodies
bright Rare radiant beauty in the flaming firelight,
With flickers and flutters, a
melting sight Of some wax and some warmth held so tender and tight
That nothing is found, only sheer
height Rising like string in the hand of a kite.
We fly like fine stars from the
moon's crescent site. Free children of fire handmade by Light!
