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The Gifter

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Something brief and fragile

Like the low candle

Ready to touch the plate,

Run out of life

Of thread and wax to burn

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Who says “brief candle,”

Hamlet or Macbeth?

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Both ready for an end,

Relinquished from the missions

Set upon by ghosts and witches

Daggers and blood

And other apparitions

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That like the dagger

Blood on hands

In fact, all apparitions

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Might be of the mind,

Modern interpretation

Of medieval magic

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A gift of time in time

The gifter having only one

For whom the limitations

Of one time can

Never, never, never, never, never

Be enough

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C L Couch

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And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more.

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Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 5

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red light

Photo by Maeghan Smulders on Unsplash

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