by Luis G. Dato
A candle by your table, and your face
Intent upon some work I but surmise —
A lesson plan, a letter, some devise
On which tomorrow’s teaching you will base
For tender minds, the fair hope of the race?
Whate‘er it be, how come that ere my eyes
Could gloat on you whom utterly I prize,
The light goes nut, and darkness takes your place?
How like the candle are your thoughts of me!
At times ignited with the glow of care,
Then of a sudden smothered they become!
And then for days on end, no memory,
Nor recognition grudgingly aware
That from afar off, for you I’ve come.