My poem (posted above), titled "What has Changed? In Memory of W.H. Auden," first took form on my walk to work and, by the time I arrived at work, read, in its entirety, as follows:

"A poet’s affirming flame,
Burns brightest when left alone,
But all flames flicker as the sun descends, 
Until the next poet’s sun rekindles the flame again."

Setting aside the reality that a poem is never finished insofar as the poet retains a perpetual tinkerer's license, the final poem (once again, posted above) seems to me to retain the essence of the above sketch.