A Letter by Candlelight

            I formed a letter, as I watched the light:
            herein begin my thoughts upon this night,
            so drawn within a line.
            But thought did halt my hand and lead astray
            the words my heart sought vainly to convey,
            and wilted on the vine.
            
            The vine was in the light, a line half-wrought:
            between with'ring heat and cold shadow caught,
            as if to match thought with heart.
            But would not heart, the flame, the new leaves burn?
            Would not shadow, its frost, the fire spurn?
            The one scorns the other part.
            
            And yet, this letter grows, lines descending:
            thought and heart blended words become, wending
            toward a fruitful end.
            As I watch shadow rise and candle die,
            my pen I put to rest, and take heart that I,
            to each part, this letter send.