The Flame Keeper

It’s a cold November evening
and the sky is starting to glow
with flickering lights that are sheltered inside
homes of tissue and willow.
Reflected in the foil supports,
the precarious flit of a flame:
a flicker here, a lick there –
the lantern-holders pray that the
light will keep on dancing
as they enter the parade.

From the gate at the castle,
a procession through the streets
weaving down to the cenotaph.
It takes strength to carry these
creations, and to keep them
safe.

But there is someone who will always
help along the way:
the flame keeper.
One who is there to reignite
what may be lost to the
good old British weather.
Howls of wind and showers of rain
are not enough to deter them –
they will be there, to cup a careful hand
around the wick.

To watch as it takes.

Burning brighter than it had in the
minutes

days

years
before.