(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

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