the candle sputters,

the last wispy, frail strands of smoke drift into the night,

birds gliding gradually into the gloom.

Someone dashes to the matchbox,

but what's the use of re-lighting a candle that has long gone?

Better, kinder, to let it spread its wings,

swans taking flight

into the starry

starry

sky

amidst the peaceful sounds of Buddhist chanting.....

--By Yue Lin, 'The Candle has Gone Out.'

Grandmother, take flight, join your husband, and rest in peace.

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