The candle burns gently,
With its flickering light.
The soft yellow flame,
Shining so bright.
Each candle to its shadow,
An artistic array.
Each slowly grows dim,
A peaceful display.
The wick has burnt down,
After the long dreary day.
Work has taken its toll,
Through the harsh rainy May.
The candle; a servant,
Still faithful each night.
Proving its loyalty,
With its life-giving light.
© Erica Graham 2014
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem