POETS’ CORNER

THE LIGHTHOUSE

The lighthouse still stands on the rocks near

the shore

And its base is still washed by the spray.

Its history runs from remote days of yore When the sailing ships passed by each day.

Its keepers worked steadily, shift after shift, Spending weeks, even months, from their

home;

Observing the tides and the sand’s longshore

drift

And enduring the storms on their own.

Those storms, when they came, were

ferociously strong,

With waves up to forty feet high.

They battered the walls as they hustled

along,

Throwing water high into the sky.

What courage they had then, those keepers

of old,

As they serviced the light at the top.

When out on the structure they had to be

bold,

For beneath was an eighty-foot drop!

And out there at sea were the ships they

could save,

Which in storms might be driven aground. They relied on the light for the warning it

gave,

While in mist a deep fog-horn would sound.

Those warnings continue each day of the

year,

Giving help to our modern ships, too; Yet the keepers have gone and electrical

gear

Keeps the light automated and true.

So here’s to the men who, in centuries past, Put their lives on the line to maintain A service that now works remotely at last, And in which further trust can remain! Have you been writing poetry for many years or are you a new, budding poet? If the answer is “yes” and you would like others to read your work, please write to us at: “Poets’ Corner”, This England Magazine, 185 Fleet Street, London, EC4A 2HS or email editor@thisengland.co.uk