What shines with care, has loveliness
Of the watchful eyes, clear and taut;
The Glow, astute; like the sound that
Follows a ‘pluck’ on the string.

What glows with use, like a distant lamp
Lying loosely, swaying in the open,
Far across the misty slope; and
Glows, dulled with overuse.

The tip of the wick, gritty and charred;
The sooty smoke spirals up to the sky;
With channels cleansed, the hearty flame blushes,
Drawing the sap with simple ease.

The lamp has lived the torment of air;
Burning, clearing the view;
Now, it rests in exhaustion
And flickers in Beauty.