Little Light

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Little light, you have no beauty,
Thy prudent wick can have no grandure;
Little light, you shine for no one,
No lowly land or greater verdure.

Little light, you useless flicker,
Determined to endure the night;
Twinkle then, raise your fire,
Pretend to be a little bright.

Little light, your breath is wasted,
Snuff your little flame away;
The light you shine, so small in darkness,
Is devoured by the golden rays.

Little light, the night is coming,
The sun will rest beyond the Earth;
The grandest sun is low and gone now,
Still you flicker all your worth.

Little light, how meak your gleam is,
Even at night, you're hard to see;
But flicker on, douse not your fire,
For now I know, you shine for me.
All that I'm after is a life full of laughter, as long as I'm laughing with you.:)




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This is a lovely poem.
I like the word choice; you used some pretty good words that added the poetic flow to your poem.
Also, I like the repetitiveness at the start of each stanza.




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Hey Nixie ^^ Shina here ;)

I can't believe I never did a review on the poem that won my contest and I can't believe this only had one reply. I think it's because your other poem overshadowed this one xD But this one was great also. One of my favorite poems on YWS.


Thy prudent wick can have no grandure;

Grandeur is spelled "grandeur" and I'd remove "can" for the flow

Little light, how meak your gleam is,

*Meek with an "e" not an a.

That's all I saw xD I love this poem too much to change anything else. Hopefully my book will be published soon so your name can be in print ^^

-Shina
You cannot dream yourself into a character; you must hammer and forge yourself into one.

The writer, when he is also an artist, is someone who admits what others don't dare reveal.



Who wants to become a writer? And why? Because it’s the answer to everything. It’s the streaming reason for living. To note, to pin down, to build up, to create, to be astonished at nothing, to cherish the oddities, to let nothing go down the drain, to make something, to make a great flower out of life, even if it’s a cactus.
— Enid Bagnold