There sat an old man before a window
in a small cabin deep in the northern wood.
In front of him a candle gently burned,
smooth, steady and peaceful its flame humbly stood.
There alone in the fading light he sat,
as twilight’s final hour passed nearer to night,
into dusk where the wind began to howl,
while the gentle flame still shined ever so bright.
Then like a shadow the darkness crept in,
swallowing everything in sight but the flame.
Alone it now burned, tossed ‘bout by the wind
Long into night, where mightier it became
For dark’s power couldn’t quench the flame, and
soon it ceded to light breaking through the trees.
Sweet sounds of birds again filled the air, as
the fierce winds bowed to a gentle flowing breeze.
Like a lone star piercing the blackened sky,
or a ray of sun breaking through the gray day,
was the flame that could not be overcome,
until the wind and dark were driven away.
And so burns this flame in the souls of men,
who wake in the dawn with a hunger for life,
who must seek the light amidst storm and gloom,
until the bright morning star rises in their hearts,
chasing away all fear and strife.