Taper

Close to the demise of its wick

It dances with the wind.

Golden rays of shining joy

Fireflies sway in coy

French vanilla whirling through

A special gift just for you.

As determined as a roaring fire.

Yet as delicate as a garden spider.

Lighting up a room in darkness

Bringing up the mood of laughter.

At the ruin of its wick

It stops in the wind

Thundering Clouds over ahead

Fireflies at their end

French vanilla lingering though

A special gift run out on you.