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