this all we can do

This life that we call our own 

Is neither strong nor free; 

A flame in the wind of death, 

It trembles ceaselessly. 

 

And this all we can do 

To use our little light 

Before, in the piercing wind, 

It flickers into night: 

 

To yield the heat of the flame, 

To grudge not, but to give 

Whatever we have of strength, 

That one more flame may live. 

 

[Dorothea Mackellar (1885-1968) 'Fire']