a poem by William E. Night, USA

No good the hours spent away
Burnt like candles in the day
Their flame recedes before my eyes
Rising like shadows gothicly;
Moving thus, perpetually
These ghosts of light so move
Like dawn beneath the moon
Reminding me of you;
No flame is fallow to the heart
Nor fallow moments so-apart
Yet, no flame as fierce as time can burn
So cold-unlike I yearn
To catch if but a phantom of the past
A whispered fragment of a face
A moment, and a place
This waning candles warmth might trace.

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