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Tuesday 16 September 2014

(Ode) To The Lighthouse.

In lonely vigil, constant, mute,
     I rise above the ocean.
Through hours of dark
     I watch them pass,
Specks of perpetual motion.

I blink and turn
     and blink again,
their lodestar of the deep;

and then they're gone
     to alien shores,
unnamed, unknown, 
     sent safe away
while other mortals sleep.

© Sheila Rogers
All rights reserved

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