Lover
It was cold as he reached the lonely steadfast cliff, the end of winter the dawn of spring
There before him lay a structure of great wonder
A splendid tower made of white, crimson inlaid with gold and silver
A lighthouse in need of a fixer for in the distance a storm grew closer
And on and on he went toiling in the darkness
For no light had been found in that lonely tower
Until one day with a stroke of luck
He did fix her
A fire once more grew in her
Forever and, at last, he heard the word 'lover'.
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