Say that the year is round, and on its top
March lighted candles in concentric rows.
They drip their wax, which hardens on the heart
As birthdays pass, and most of us suppose
That all we ask is just some time to stop,
Regroup, remit the past, revere a rose.
A natal day is just the place you start
To win or lose, to plow through winter snows.
Over the curve the candles move, then drop
Down, as the winds of time bring to a close
Each sturdy, hopeful wish within the heart;
More light recedes, and all our aging shows.
- Sally Cook is both painter and poet. Whether writing or painting, she keeps a sharp eye out for the psychological portrait. Her essays and poetry have been published in journals such as The Chimera, Chronicles, Contemporary Sonnet, Iambs & Trochees, Pivot, and The Formalist Portal. Look for her in the next issue of Light Quarterly. Cook’s review “Rhyming The Right”, of William Baer’s anthology “The Conservative Poets”, may be seen both in the current issue of The University Bookman and on its website.