I am not the wick of the candle
Bearer of bad news.
Fire burning in the wax
Present you refuse.
I am not the melting of the wax
Production of all good.
Sadness that represents
Sculpted in wood.
I am not the feast that cures your aches
Nor the water that quenches thirst
I am the last one you think of
Because I certainly wasn’t first.
I am Summers bitter heat
Tender death within Fall
You foolish foolish people
I am the fire that started it all.