Lighthouses, Our Sentinel Friend
A tower carved from heavy stone,
It braves the raging, timeless sea,
Where ancient wooden ships were blown,
By winds that whistled wild and free.
The keeper climbs the spiral stairs,
To trim the wick and light the flame,
Through bitter frost and salty air,
To guide the ships without a name.
With whale-oil fire and iron gears,
It pierced the heavy, choking fog,
A savior through the passing years,
Recorded in the Captain's log.
Through naval wars and trading booms,
The lens revolved with steady grace,
To rescue crews from watery tombs,
And mark this rugged, lonely place.
Though modern beams now take the lead,
The weathered structure stands sublime,
A monument to human need,
Defying all the rust of time.
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