Time has fed a burning fire with dying embers.
A dwindling light in the winter wind, flickering
As the night sought to put it out but could not,
Resisted death and not once lost its light.

Still I pitied it. A candle hanging by a thread,
Waging quarrels with the wind, found no solace
In my cupped hands. The cold and bitter tears
Of these winter nights pelted its withering spirit.