Still working on my 3rd book, but in the interim . . .

Candle Light

I am but a flame, born of a spark long past;
Once bright and hot, and fuelled by molten wax.
With disregard, I burned through youth.
Shortly will I flicker before a chill north wind,
Weakly clinging to the fragile wick of life.
Near the end, I will shrink to an ember –
One final gasp of smoke as I extinguish.
Where once I glowed, there will be naught but carbon,
And a memory of once-brilliant light.

David J. Forsyth