He fumbles for the light switch
It isn't there.
He treds cautiously
With prudence
With patience
Towards the door
It isn't there.
He stretches out his hands
For any of the walls
Or for any object to grope
There aren't any.
Then a prick of light.
A ray of hope.
A beam of illumination
Chance of salvation
You don't light up my life.
You're the light in my life.
But the wax is melting fast
And nearing the end
How can the wick still burn
When there is no more wax?
Sizzle and be extinguished.
I need someone distinguished.
Memories relished.
Well, at least there's you.
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