(The following poem is by my Mother who died in 2008)

A candle’s but a simple thing —
it starts with just a bit of string.

Yet dipped or molded with patient hand
it gathers wax upon the strand.

Till rainbow-hued or snowy white
it gives at last a lovely light.

Life seems so like that bit of string —
each deed we do a simple thing.

Yet day by day if in life’s strand
we work with patient heart and hand
it gathers joy, makes dark days bright
and gives at last a lovely light.