Long ago, when we were monkeys,
We could soar! We could soar!
We could travel through the jungle trees
And not hit the jungle floor!
We could hang by tails as thin as string
And never lose our grip.
We could scuttle over dripping leaves
And never ever slip.
We could leap through open spaces
Far as the eye could see,
Between one tree and another
In the lofty canopy.
We could drop like stones from up above
And bounce on lower limbs.
We could skim across the greenery
As a stone over water skims.
You've seen them all on the TV,
The monkeys and their soaring.
They can leap and hang and swing all day
And never find it boring.
We had it once, in the dead, dead past,
That wild agility,
But we traded it in for upright stance
And verbal ability.
Yet, still, within us, way down deep,
There's a memory of it all;
A little comes back when we're dancing;
Then we really 'have a ball.'
But somewhere buried in our brians
Lies the feeling that we, too,
Should be able to leap up gracefully
And soar into the blue.
The light of the sun is harmful,
The light of the moon is pale,
While electric light
On a stormy night
Can very often fail.
An oil lamp may sometimes flicker
And neon lights give no cheer.
Is exactly right;
It creates an atmosphere.
Candle-light's kind to wrinkles;
I know that is the truth.
Old faces soften
And, very often,
Renew the look of youth.
Candle-light casts the shadows
That make the world brand new;
The fairy gloom
Of a flame-lit room
Can make one's dreams come true.
There's nothing brash or modern
About the candle-glow,
An old-world charm
Makes us feel more calm
And we find ourselves speaking low.
So insist on the light of candles
To brighten up your night.
Let hearts beat quicker
At each warm flicker.
Love loves candle-light.