Wednesday, May 18, 2011

The Lighthouse Keeper

The sea is calm amid the dawn,
he stands on island’s shore,
solitude surrounds his life,
he chose so long ago.

A guardian, a steward,
a man among men,
his reach is far and wide
never making feigned excuses
for a life given up to the tide.

He’s steadfast and true,
I’ll wager you,
I think you will agree,
he draws upon the sea for strength,
as stout as an old oak tree.

Mary Tom did steal his heart,
both knew she would not stay,
so he writes to her on Mondays,
kisses her picture every day.

She takes the trip once in the fall,
another in the spring,
she cooks for him in apron fair
and wears his college ring.

He’s strapped in tight,
with all his might,
like the sails of the Tuskadoon,
there’ll bury him on rocky shores,
‘neath the beams of a sailors moon.

So if you have a mind to think,
he doesn’t amount to a thing,
the ships that pass his stony tower,
honor him when foghorns sing.

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