The flames flicker,
As a breeze blows past,
Disturbing the shadows.
A bigger wind stirs,
People begin to shield,
For fear of losing their light.
They sit under the night sky,
Chatting up a storm,
To ease the tension.
The pilgrimage has only just begun,
Cold runs in the rows,
The moon shines ever brighter.
Monday, January 31, 2011
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