The Passing Of The Fire Poem by Carol Fleming Klein

There is a moment
when the flame burn low.
The candle flickers,
the light about to go.
The spark may be rekindled
and the flicker returned to glow
at this point in time
with a careful hand you know.

But when
that moment passes...
when the darkness snuffs the light,
comes the time of no return.
And then blacker grows the night.
The candle might not be relighted,
nor the coal be coaxed to spark,
when late becomes the hour
in the deepness of the dark.

So pause you on the threshhold
of quenching my desire.
For cool and distant grows
my heart,
with the passing of the fire.

Friday, June 17,1988