My Impression Is...
O’er the candled things did float
The singular last remnant of hope.
Long whittled away by time
Had it been
As it clung to the wall
On the side of the beam. Till at last
It could no longer be ignored,
So dropped it was
To the flame below.
It rode the heat,
And swirled around,
Then at last the flame caught it
Before it touched the ground; and the fire,
For a time,
Burned brighter.
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