I

A candle burns brightest

When it’s nearing the end,

And when the wind

Blows right in its face;

That is when the flame

Arches and twists, full of grace,

But fiery nevertheless.

A candle does not

Just quietly, go out,

From its meek beginning,

It peters out in style

Right before your eyes,

Its glow, ever brightening

Until it gives up.

II

To be meek and mild

Is not a failing,

But if the child within you

Is somewhat wild,

Straining against the shackles

You’ve held it in,

Unleash its fire,

And let its flame,

Light up every dark space

Of your life.

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