The path was laid, the buildings built, <br />the cakes were baked, the clothes were made, <br />the cars went past on spinning wheels, <br />the shoes were stitched, designed and heeled. <br />Who was it that produced all this; <br />the candles in the restaurants serving bliss. <br /> <br />The clouds spun past the steepled sky, <br />the moon shone bright as they went by, <br />and in the broken spaces rent, <br />the far flung stars shone across the firmament. <br />Who was it that produced all this; <br />the candles in the heavens shining bliss. <br /> <br />The people passed bedecked with robes, <br />some walked fast, some thoughtfully strolled, <br />some looked out, some looked within, <br />some looked at me, some looked grim. <br />Who was it that produced all this; <br />the candles in the eyes reflecting bliss. <br /> <br />The candles' flames merged in the mind, <br />and in the merging spoke in chimes. <br />The flame spread wide enfolding all, <br />who was there left with need to ask. <br />Who is it that produced all this; <br />That candle, only source of bliss.<br /><br />David Taylor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-candle-for-your-thoughts/
