Light in the Dark Months

Be it that pub on Broadway
or Terroni’s of Holborn,
or your bitesized flat,
which stands more like the model of a home;

It does not matter to me,
which temple it is that I hold out my palms flat,
Resting on them: a cake,
with one crowning flame atop.

A single shivering smidge of fire,
That catches an entire room and
turns the crowd into a choir.
December's luminescence

is my pride in the dark months.
To me,
it does not matter where the candle is lit,
Only that I am here to light the moment for you.