Tapers know not age,

Illuminated the sage

Careful inked reasons,

Etching on the canvas.

Wintering wind calls,

Freeze the heart

And not warm the soul,

But the call remains

As not that which abutts the stones

That night.

All waxen cleaved

And faltering candlelight.

Then the breeze takes no leave

Remaining as a mercurial foe

And still the amber obeys

And stays through temerity

On the precarious fibre perch.

No good reason to go

Stay to the end

Much of import left to be done.

By Adam R. Lively

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