Burnt Wick Poem by Kyrgiakos Punnilathil

The rain fell in drops thick and fast,
I was drenched, and shivered in the cold,
But the embers of a fire in my heart kept me warm,
And drove me. I was 20 years old.

'Tis a strange thing buying candles,
A symbol of hope and light.
For no matter how dark it gets,
It's flame could always make it bright.

But like all things that are of this world,
Even that light must wax, and then wane.
For when the appointed time passes,
Not even hope, that was there, can remain.

the flame is dead
The candle's full burnt,
The light's gone out,
And the lesson's been learnt.