The Candle’s Trail

The yellow tipped wicks burn bright
Wax tears fall in creamy white
As the darkness descends
The warmth and light ends
Whispers of grey dance across the air
Graceful. Soft. Pirouettes. A silent pair
They dance. They turn. They sway
Unnatural, yet nature’s way
Time seems to slow, the trails frozen
Similar, but never the same shapes chosen
Its movements reduce and soon fade
I’ll never forget this beauty that was made


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