Though the candles heart does burn bright,
Though the bawling wax slithers down the shaft,
One may come to wonder who may be in town,
Fresh up on a crisp autumn’s twilight.
Doth a leaf fall and hit thee,
striding through the cobblestone streets,
When in present of a bitter breeze,
Thou maketh the most of what thou can breath.
He schleps an umbrella within his hands,
in case of yet it’s to...
