Even a Candle Has Seasons

Even a candle has seasons,
A smooth-topped beginning,
Wick white and waxy.
First burst of flame,
First melted pool.

Midlife of a candle
Suggests service.
It is seasoned, available,
Each lighting a faithful burn.

The candle wanes.
It’s fiery moments are numbered.
Uneven wax shows age.
It’s weight is diminished.

Then, the last burn—
The light, the heat, the flicker.
Perhaps it pops and sputters
Until its pulse is gone.
It, too, has passed.

Every lighting was a beginning,
Every extinguishment an end,
Every burning a symbol—
Every thing has seasons.