Their lights are set so dimly,
And I take the wooden brunt.
I step forward, oh, so slowly,
And I catch a flickering light.
The fire catches and I pass it on
To the other four surrounding wicks.
One for Clea and one for Pat,
Then two for Kevin and my aunt.
I would spread more for other deaths
But the tears risk to escape.
So I whisper a prayer and I leave
In the fellowship of those that I love.
One who is living, eight now dead,
But who all the same hold my hand.
They live in me and all I see
Yet reside in another land.