The Lighthouse

A lighthouse stands on the cliffs of Montray,

Beautifully bleached by the Summer's heat

Watching and warning of rocks and the quay

No better friend a Captain will meet

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Once light beaming proudly o'er day and night,

A beacon of hope to the wayward, lost

A prospect of safety for those affright

When the storms assailed and the battered ship tossed

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Standing through storms and the heat and the cold,

Observing the waves, the froth and the foam

A bastion for fishers, sailors of old

In the black of night or eventide's gloam

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Now lonely, abandoned, silent by sea,

Remaining a mariner's memory