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Eternal Flame MAG
Two candles in the dark
Burn slowly with grace;
The lights seem to touch
And form a heavenly face.
The light is the beauty
Of the lives that once were;
The sticks are the figures
Of him and of her.
And the wax dripping down
Is a tear we all cry,
And if the wax keeps melting
The figures will die.
The wicks are the souls
Of the figures that stand,
And the dish down below
Is a sign of God's hand.
The candles stand still
And forever they'll stay,
Burning the light
Because that's the best way.
This poem is dedicated to my grandparents. My grandfather died in 1989 two days after Christmas and my grandmother died in 1980 five days before Christmas.
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Knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit. Wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad.