I sit here on the window ledge night after night burning away just to give light. I see the same old shadows flicking on the wall but are these haunting shadows that mean nothing at all.
I sit here in the cold as my wax melts away time for my memarous as l am growing old.
When l was young l stood high in a hall with many other candles we just had a ball we were a beautiful sight on a festive night on a crystal chandelier hanging from a height. We were all kept up high until we were half burnt down then we were sold off to help the poor folk in town. All trimmed up to look like new and l was given to a Vicar because he was first in the pew.
To the church the poor paid a penny for four which was hardly enough light to see them through the church door.
I now stand in a chaple under a stained   glass window but l am a candle what do l have to gain.
Now l no longer see the dark shadows on the wall just a beautiful image of St Paul stained in coloured glass with blue birds flying above my head l now know this is my final bed. This is where l want to be so l will go on burning my wick until l get sick
When this finally happens l will prey to St
Paul and ask him to bless me as my wax runs down the wall.