Alone she stands there, all alone
A solitary guard
Her torch of brightness shining still
Though all else has retired.
Who would think that this brave soul
That keeps lone vigil with her light
Her flame forever watching us
And guarding against the foes of night
Is but a candle, tall and slim
Pale, with graceful light forlorn
A silent watcher, ever mindful
Of the coming, sombre dawn?
There she stands so proud and fearful
Lest the wind her flame should spoil
Waiting till warm rays of sun
Shall end her hours of toil.
And now - it rises, warm and yellow
But she's too small to call or shout
The morning breeze it wafts her way
And now, alas, her flame's blown out.
(c) Poet in the woods 2014
(written in 1964)