"Standing tall A beacon in storm. Hope for souls in fright." Thus was inscribed on the foundation stone, Of an old lighthouse; unused now, no longer burdened with the responsibility of leading ships home. It lay abandoned, uncared; No longer a hub of activity. No longer remembered. Except perhaps on a specific day. A day when, many years ago Tall columns of clouds Had suddenly swamped the skies The sea had turned ominous The waves, murderous. In the darkness of the night, The stormy sea had risen high Aiming to consume the trawler To its deep confines. Lurching dangerously The trawler and its two occupants Had braced for the worst. The dark night Had them in a grip, tight. The frenzied winds had Hit them with all their might. Home seemed nowhere in near sight. In absence of guiding stars Reaching the shores, they realised Would be a tall order. When all had seemed lost And fate seemed intent to do its worst. Through the darkness the duo perceived a glimmer of light. The lighthouse that day had stood tall. Amidst the darkness and squall To port, it had the trawler brought. In remembrance of that day They come each year; A sailor's cap on their head. Bent with age now, And with wrinkles that hide the smell of sea in its folds. Touching the walls They mutter heartfelt gratitude To the old lighthouse For having saved them on that fateful day. In front of the foundation stone They bend low To place a bouquet of flowers in obeisance. Then back to their lives, they go. The lighthouse remains, Still looking at the horizon, Perhaps reminiscing And with pride Standing tall.
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