One dark night a candle
barely lit because of storms
melted nonetheless until
its wick had lost its form.
The Child came (in some dismay)
and took the wick away.
Yet, to my surprise, a light
still shined till night was day.
I sat down to make a note
(for miracles are rare here)
and He grew a little coat
and He launched a little boat
and He lifted one small hand
(making light of cold and land).
Some dared not to touch His sandal.
(One blessed night, I lost a candle!)
A. Michele Leslie is a poet and playwright who lives in Minneapolis with her husband, David, and two cats.