The worn, stone lighthouse sprawling with ivy
sits upon its throne of rocks, sprayed by salty seas.
This lighthouse sleeps all day
waiting for the twinkling stars to pop up,
for that is when its work begins.
A beacon of light
shines through the dust-coated windowpanes,
searching for and guiding lost ships,
as if the lighthouse is a shepherd, guiding its sheep.
Big, gray, billowing clouds roll in
blotting out the moon and stars.
Lightning flashes, thunder crashes,
boats are thrown about,
struggling to stay afloat.
The sailors, with their hearts in their throats,
know they are saved when the light comes.
Glorious, white light seems to silence Mother Nature's monster.
The boats are no longer struggling to stay afloat.
The golden sun wakes up in the East,
shooing away the storm,
as if the storm clouds were a swarm of flies.
The old lighthouse's work is done for the night.
The tired light inside
greets the morning sun's radiant rays.
It has been a long, hard, stormy night-
for guiding ships is not an easy task.

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