Wick

A wick, a thin string, so simple and plain,

A tool so humble, but with purpose so vain,

It's the bridge between the flame and the wax,

The means to light a candle, and relax.

It's the pathway, for the heat to ascend,

The way for the fire, to reach to its end,

It's the source of light, in the darkness of night,

The source of warmth, in the coldest of sight.

A wick, can bring comfort, and solace so bright,

A gentle flicker, that can chase away the fright,

It can set the mood, for a dinner so grand,

Or for a bath, that's relaxing, so at hand.

So here's to the wick, a tool so small,

With a purpose so great, that can light up it all,

It's a symbol of hope, in a world that's so dark,

A reminder that even, the smallest of sparks, can light up the park.