Lighted candles show our spirit,
And smells of flowers’ fragrance rise,
As flames of life grow the shapes,
Of childlike cones in our eyes.
Pools of tears’ shiny shimmer,
Reflect their faces in our minds,
The sweetness of our children,
Before we leave them each behind.
Lord, why grow us old so fast,
To suffer parent’s pain of loss,
Like smoke from burning candles,
On standing wicks of silver gloss.
Ronald Whetsell's Creative Writing and Poetry Blog 