Candle

by May Richardson

I light my candle,
melting it clear
the air whispers,
sometimes too near.
My candle burns
yellow, blue, white,
I keep it going
all through the night.
Sometimes it flickers,
moving in torrid patterns,
circling, dwindling, sparking tatters,
flame wanes, then rises up,
springing form what you thought was no more.
It keeps on fighting,
melting wax as time goes by,
the candle is me,
and it is I.