Life is a flame,
Like that of a candle,
The flame is small and weak.
In the wind we waver,
In the rain we sputtered,
And somehow life is breathed into it.
Despite many close calls,
It continued to be fed with the oxygen it needed to survive.
It also needs a body.
Which is the wax, or in our cases “the mind”.
Although our candles have weathered many storms,
Our candles nearly dwindled down to a mere puddle of wax.
We receive signs daily that our time here is short.
We must make the most of the time we’re given
God willing Jesus will call us home some day.
Like the puddle of wax,
We’re all worth nothing in the end.
It’s a sad fact when it gets to the point
Where we’re worth more dead than alive.
But it sometimes happens!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem