The Candle

There is sadness in a sunset when the last faint ray is past, For like candles we are burning each day shorter than the last.

Like our fathers through the ages who have all burned out and gone, tiny candles took their places lighting up to carry on.

High abouve the Candle Lighter watches down from day to day Knows just how our light is shining as we slowly burn away.

Some will never burn completely Be snapped out by wind or gale, Will be judged than by the Lighter how they shine before they fail.

Everyday and all around us candles burn short all about, Nor do we have a way of knowing when and how they must go out.

As each morning's golden sunrise brightens up the world about, Each candle should be trimmed and ready for the time it must go out.

John L. Gwaltney