The Lighthouse's Enduring Song

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A lonely tower, against the ocean's might,

Stands sentinel through the darkest night.

Its lamp, a jewel, a promise to the wave,

A guiding star for all the ships to save.

From ancient fires on rugged, windswept stone,

Where crude wood burned, and early sailors groaned,

To Roman pharos, reaching for the sky,

A column's flame where hopeful ships drew nigh.


The keeper came, a solitary soul,

His quiet vigil, making spirits whole.

He polished brass, and trimmed the wick with care,

A human pulse, dispelling ocean's snare.

Through sunlit calm, and fury of the gale,

He spun the beam, a never-ending trail.

The churning gear, the lamp's hypnotic sway,

A silent promise, through the night and day.

He knew the fog, its clammy, cold embrace,

And sounded warning from that lonely place.

Each passing ship, a whispered, grateful plea,

A bond unbroken, keeper and the sea.


Now wires hum where once a keeper trod,

Automation's touch, a nod from man to God

Of progress swift, the human hand withdrawn,

A flashing pulse that guides from dusk till dawn.

Yet in the beam, a whisper still remains,

Of those who braved the solitude, the pains,

The spirit strong, that built against the tide,

And kept the flame, with nothing left to hide.


The lighthouse stands, through ages, strong and bright,

A timeless beacon, conquering the night.

It bears the scars of tempests, fierce and old,

A silent witness, stories to unfold.

A message sent, across the dark expanse,

Of purpose found, in life's uncertain dance.

To guide, to guard, to stand against the fray,

And light the path for all




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