Lighthouse.

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Lighthouse.

Grey rocks dashed to black by rising tides
On a tall sea mountain, she resides
Flashing white in the early morning
Sends no blast or flash of dangers warning.

But on another autumn day.
When mist descends across the bay
And the rocks can not be seen end to end.
Then her light and her kracken roar the air will fill and rend.

Warning sailors to steer hard away
And fear the mist that about the jagged needles play
To keep theirs ships intact and whole
Beat fast back. And hunt another day the silver shoal.

© Dave Kavanagh @ daithiocaomanaigh.com

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