A pure white dinner taper candle
Sits in a rusty old tin soup can.
It does put out a brilliant light,
But who will ever see it
In this rubble of a desert
Where the tortoises hold sway.

Who lit the flame and walked away?
Who did they think the light would save?
They must have known how hard the wind
Rampages over empty land
And that the flame would disappear
In less time than it takes to sigh.

And yet somehow the candle glows
Impervious and proudly tall.
It’s shadow dances on the sand
And flickers in the breezes.
There must be some soul healed by this
And I suspect that one is me.
ljm