The Lighthouse

Lighthouse

Is this the place where I once stood,

With pure white dress and navy hood,

To watch the tumbling of the waves,

Bring in quantities of old driftwood?

Wondering if pieces such,

Were from the ship that I missed much.

The one that struck some distant shore,

The one the dreadful wind did clutch.

If only the lighthouse had been lit!

The message of danger to transmit!

Thence the ship would have be saved,

But for the folly of the lighthouse half-wit.

My lighthouse never turned dark.

Here no ship received a mark.

Why was it not on this very shore?

Where it could have turned in a graceful arch.

It never would have hit my land.

Never its bottom would scrape my sand.

Saved he would be, and dreaded not would be the sea.

And closely I would hold his hand, closely ever hold his hand.

No use crying over events of the past.

For it was this place where I stood steadfast.

When the news had reached me swiftly, yes.

That the breath he breathed had been his last.

Thinking, “So long oh shore and lighthouse keen!

Farewell oh ocean and beautiful scene.

For I’ll not return, I’m leaving now.

To deal with the dreadful unforeseen.”

Years have passed but I remember still,

Struggling up the steep little hill.

To release the tears I had kept inside,

Of being taken against my will.

Here the anger held so long,

Here the hope that I held onto, clung.

Was I wrong to return even now?

Then my delicate hands I wrung.

There I stood waiting upon the hill.

Hoping that through the misty veil.

The ship will come sailing, sailing, sailing.

Hoping the ship will come sailing still.

(artwork thanks to Kiana Pieters)