The wax drips,
Lining its heated brow,
Dripping from the edge of its gaze,
Snaking round its neck,
And pooling on it's collar.

A crown of radiance,
Sits gloriously above.

It grows shorter day by day,
Dropping down, and down,
Then down some more,
Till it falls among the lowly lights,
They had been in darkness,
Long extinguished.

Then it comes,
A new light to those chained in death.

It descendes deeper still,
A glowing pool in its wake,
Dull and dead,
And darkness seems to hide its face,
And the storms still.

In the dead of night,
A quiet ember slips,
Igniting these lowly lights again,
In a cloud of flame and praise abundant,
A light for all who know their plight.

Again a crown of radiance sits,
Gloriously above and higher still.