Candle

My candle short and round
It adds certain warmth to the room
Though not much to look at
It owns a presence
A small, red mound or wax and wick
Ablaze at its center
Cold at its side
Encompasses in its glass cage

The flame
Engaged in its dance
Tossed about by the whimsical air
Like a ballerina it turns
Around its charred wick
It welts the wax
Creating a ruby red puddle at its base
A sea to the falling embers

The berry-like aroma fills the air
Bringing a festive spirit to its observers
Somewhat sweet
Somewhat sour
Overpowering this small room
It must be snuffed out soon

The flame is no more
Still a grey smoke continues the dance
Climbing the walls and filling the air
The wick still aglow
Fueling the dark airborne streams
Slowly it too fades
All is dark
The dance has ended

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