Rue’s Lament What begins in the light ends in the dark. Heated wax melting into memory. Liquid pools formed from that initial spark. Every wick burns out eventually. Fear not the candle’s smoky finale Celebrate instead the way it burned bright Tendrils of grey-black smoke, the last sally Of a flame that flickered with all its might. The chandler crafted with wick and tallow Each piece meant to serve an earthly purpose So, burn your candles, lest they lie fallow Trophies to obsolescence for the corpus. Heat, light, and power dancing off the tip. Snuffed out, brief candle. Sweet life, what a
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