The flame is in the candle,
and the flame is in me.
Candle flame like a tree,
wick for a trunk.
The flame is in the candle,
and the flame is in me.
The flame also like a tender bud,
aching with sweet heat.
The flame is in the candle,
and the flame is in me.
And then with a blink,
it becomes again a burning bush.
The flame is in the candle,
and the flame is in me.
Am I the flame of love,
and shadow of the power,
or am I the flame of power,
and love in the shadow?
Does it flicker back and forth,
with a breeze of my breath?
I am a flexible tree.
Yes, deeply rooted,
but that is not all I am,
for I am also the changing wind.
I am so many things.
The flame is in the candle,
and the flame is in me.
