The Candle Seller's Light

What we often ignore, but need, deserves some love. -Michelle Liew.

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In the quiet market’s evening light

A wise candle seller sits upright

His wares gleaming in the frosty air

Shades of joy, prayer and despair

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“The candles call,” he whispered, on a frosty eve

“A fire that warms, your secret dreams, it conceives.”

Now curious Jack, with coins to give,

Asked “What does it do? My heart, will it mend?

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He grinned, his eyes like evening’s glimmer,

“These lights guard against the dark, the dimmer.”

Each one’s a light of a grace past

That shows what you wished you’d asked.”

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The child chose a light, its glow dim,

With a wick slender, its form reed thin.

“WIll it show my room?” The child now asked,

“And keep me warm as the winds blow past?”

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The seller thought, then quietly replied

“It burns for what you’ve cast aside

For treasures lost, for words unspoken

For each haunted heart now broken.”

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The child it warmed that night, confused

He saw strange forms the flame infused

His mother’s hugs, his father’s care

His brother’s wholesome cooking flair

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A faint glow revealed a friend’s last wave,

A missed goodbye, the time he gave

Each scene of pain, a hollow cry

For what he missed or let pass by

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As the bright sun rose next morn,

The candle died, its wick now gone

In its place, a note for Jack,

“Savour the time you won’t have back.”