I light a candle in the night
and place it on the window sill,
unsure of what I hope to find,
but wishing to dispel the chill
of winter's stormy interlude.

My loneliness is like the night;
friends have deserted, children too,
and left me here inside these walls
with nothing much to see or do,
and where not even sounds intrude.

The candle flickers in the wind
and smoky wisps rise up like dreams
that used to burn with passion's flame
but now evaporate in steam
as dark and daunting as my mood.

I watch the waning light and see
the candle pooling on the plate
and recognize with sinking heart
my time has gone. It is too late
for wishful dreams that might delude

a longing soul to once again
believe that life for such as I,
could still have meaning, even though
my light has faded, soon to die,
should darkness this tired heart seclude.

But there within the wisping smoke
a face appears and seems to smile.
A shadowed vision hovers close
and lingers for a little while,
its smile with grace and peace imbued.

The candle now is almost gone,
but smoke still curls and floats about
the room much like a tender friend
who's come to banish all the doubt
that would all happiness exclude.

I resolutely trim the wick
and find another match to light
the shrinking candle on the sill,
and realize, though it is night,
my withered hope has been renewed.