He was the fire...the fire to my burning candle
When I first recieved him he lit up my life
His flame burned vibrantly, it burned with care, and
it burned forever
Now that fire that once burned for me won't even
spark for me
Maybe its old, maybe I'm not lighting it right..or
maybe his flame is tired of my candle
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Good Write Octavia... Maybe, just maybe, his matches are wet... I hate when that happens... Excellent write **10** Be Well