jet and sea glass crunch with each footfall.
Waves come in, washing out the other’s call.
Up high on the hill sits the tower,
light reaching out to each ship this hour.
Though I have not been to this place,
I feel that life should be lived at this pace.
With the ebb and flow of the tide,
we climb the path to where the light bearer’s chide.
For we are late and it is cold.
Yet they welcome us with warm hearth and lights that flicker gold.