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The Lighthouse


In solitude, it stands, a lonely figure against the ocean's roar.

It towers heavenward, sturdy and tall,

A beacon of permanency, amidst the changing tides

On-high illumination shines forth

like a guiding beacon for the wayward and lost,

Ships aided by its unwavering light throughout the night

The reflected lantern casts a warm, bright glow,

A flickering of hope, brushing white across the inky blackness,

whispered promise to troubled seafarers.

Trust me, and let me guide you.

It murmurs tales of sailors and ships' finding haven

Likewise, stories of souls and yachts since lost and floundered

Remembered in etched stone on harbour memorials

Years of sunsets and storms have passed since their demise

As a witness to the vastness of time and space, life and death

It stands before us, a symbol for jack tars and old salts

Belief, in fair winds and a safe return.


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