I light the dark,
alluding to dawn's break.
Softening the fear, the trepidation,
of one’s yearning desperation.
I light the dark,
a soft glow in crescent folds,
waxing across winter's colds.
Torch in the depths one holds.
First quarter tells time.
A passing of days, I’m the mime.
Mimicking their shadows, their being,
illuminating their fleeing.
Running crisp, the breeze whistles,
whistles ...