Seven candles burn in the night
Their will subdued by an unnamed fright.
The vast empty courtyard in sight
These travelers came weary, bearing a light.

Six candles now burn in the wind
Their fires dwindling from within.
The moon hangs speechless, pale, and thin
While the travelers await the horizon.

Five candles burn at the wake
As the star-speckled light shines off the lake.
What is to become these travelers fate
As the looming thunderhead awaits?

Four candles burning alone and benign
Their eminent doom to dimly resign.
The travelers await the hopeless design
Of failure and to those they've consigned.

Three candles now stand against hope
Where engulfing darkness continues to grope.
It's too late for the travelers to elope
As a hanged man at the end of his rope.

Two candles shiver before the thunder
AS the rampart is being torn asunder.
This so-called shelter shakes from under--
It is the travler's greastest blunder.

The last candle's flame fades away.
There is nothing left now to say.