The Lighthouse Keeper,
Frail and old,
Mans his watch,
All alone.

Every day,
He rises still,
To towers top,
And ocean’s chill.

His lifelong task,
To guard the sea,
Was handed down,
At infancy.

All his youth,
And golden years,
He gave to calm,
The sailor’s fears.

His contract now,
Is kept and gone,
But to the tower,
He still belongs.

Upon the morn’,
He climbs the steps,
And scans the waves,
Down to the depths.

His true love, lost,
Shall soon return.
As nighttime falls,
The lamplight burns.

Then one day,
His body stilled.
His head lay toward,
The window sill.

His face as pale,
As winter sand.
An open letter,
In his hand.

The words now penned,
A score before,
Have faded,
Into hope and lore.

And in his last,
And final breath,
He sees her face,
Before his death.

-Taylor Glenn Pritchard

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