The Little Girl and Her Candle

The Little Girl and Her Candle

Her hands were trembling slightly,
Caked with specks of dirt.
Streaks of muddy residue
Left stains on her filthy shirt.

Her eyes were swelled and puffy,
Her mouth, small and red,
Quivered slightly, softly,
Tiny memories left unsaid.

She held a small candle in front,
Flitting with a tiny fear,
Burning brightly, illuminating
The innocence of her years.

She wandered across the desolate land
Seeking a place to stay,
The candle she held out before her,
To guide her along the way.

She came before a majestic palace,
And stood before golden gates.
The guards eyed her, uncertain,
As she crept into this place.

Filthy dirt still clung to her
And was smeared across her brow.
She was very much out of place,
But she couldn’t turn back now.

She drifted through the palace yard
And right into the hall,
Where a glorious King sat in his throne
Hearing, knowing all.

The lords and ladies quieted,
Gaping at this sight,
A squalid young girl, torn and dirty,
In a place where she had no right.

As she approached the dais,
The last of the society were muted.
They peered at this tiny little thing
Whose appearance was unsuited.

She bowed at the King’s feet
And tilted down her head,
As the suitors of the court
Looked on with satiric dread.

The King shifted forward on his throne
And beckoned the child to come.
“What have we here? Welcome, dear,
To my illustrious home.”

“Many come, and many leave,
And to enter you must pay a price.
I know you have come here to stay,
So tell me, what will you sacrifice?”

“Please, sir, this is all I have,”
And she lifted up her tiny flame,
Still wobbling in the brilliant light,
And she quivering the same.

The king leaned back in his mammoth chair,
Watching the girl bow her dirty head.
Her face pressed to the tiny flame of a heartbeat
Move with winds whispering the unsaid.

“You give me a pretty flame, darling,
But what worth is your candle to me?
See how bright my palace burns!
What impact will your light be?”

She knelt down slowly,
Cherry lips pursed closed.
Her eyes were shut momentarily,
As the candle still dimly glowed.

“My candle is so small, sir,
Tiny and useless, as you say
But it guided me through the dark
And it led me all the way.”

“Why would a candle do that?
What would it have to lose by blowing out?
Yet it held on strong, giving hope
To those once filled with doubt.”

Her voice wobbled a little,
Tears welling on the edges of her tale.
She looked up, imploring;
The King’s face softened, as well.

“Your heart has spoken to me,”
The King lifted wide his arms.
Immediately the room flashed with a blinding light,
And the courters cried out in alarm.

After the light subsided
and the pandemonium toned down,
The little girl peeked through her eyes
And looked all around.

The King’s court was missing.
The doubters were driven away.
Though they could see with their eyes,
Their blinded hearts had led them astray.

The girl was amazed at this turn of events,
But failed to notice her clothes.
No longer did she have grimy, torn rags,
But a white gown with a golden rose.

The King sat in his glorious throne,
And beside him stood a tall, fresh candle.
Burning brightly for all the kingdom
To show of the little girl’s travel.

*

So no matter where you are in life –
In grimy rags or silken attire –
Know there will always be a way
To make your little flame a roaring fire.