Dingy Dandy

Seasons come and go

Like years do

In the pages of centuries

Before a flip of a coin rolls,

The perpetual candle tears

To melt away the wax of days

That births age.

 

When the crepuscle grows weary

Of the gloam of sunset

And the sapless year grows old

As infirm as the candle coughs cold

Then does the decrepit candle wax-set,

With no extra tear to shed for its woebegone

That levels the landscape for either hope or dreary.