A candle in the window burns
to show by its uncertain light
that here dwells one who knows what fears
may plague a traveller through the night.
If he or she, or known or not
will not much signify -
this candle shed its kindly light
on lonely souls that pass close by.
For though the hearth of home’s behind,
or burns still many miles ahead,
a traveller sighs relief to find
a simple meal, a makeshift bed.
So there he’ll rest; but long before
the sun smiles on the road again,
he’ll take his boots and close the door.
Then, will this candle burn again?