I love to burn candles with matches
The box is always a thrill
The dead ones lie there so close to the living
It is like disturbing a grave
And the truly grave occasion
Is when none lie alive among the dead
– or No!, is that one there? –
And with horror one discards it into the rubbish
And grabs a fresh new box instead –
I love to burn candles with matches
The new box is on fire and I shake it
It rattles like a rattlesnake caught in its lair