Now it’s the candle’s fault, the shadows
Fall all over us, a dance macabre on your face,
The food not eaten waits, another Autumn day
But worse. November and the candles
Can not shine enough to keep the mist away.
Now it’s the candle’s fault. We say more
Words that seem too late. The candle’s fold,
A stream of wax runs on the table. Light is moved
By draught and shines from different angles.
November only has a thirty days to go.