The Candle burns a precise and even white As incense settles into twilight. Pure is the air, delicate and right As thread-like silk clouds weave into night. Bliss brings unbounded to bodies bright Rare radiant beauty in the flaming firelight, With flickers and flutters, a melting sight Of some wax and some warmth held so tender and tight That nothing is found, only sheer height Rising like string in the hand of a kite. We fly like fine stars from the moon’s crescent site. Free children of fire handmade by Light!