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The Guardian

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On the horizon, dim and small,
is a glowing, gleaming, gilded ball.

A constant in the shifting seas,
it never sways in the ocean breeze.

It doesn't look like much by day,
a distant, hulking mass of gray,

But far away pne golden light
pierces even the blackest night.

It makes no sound, no buoy's cry,
but shines no matter how dark the sky.

The old lighthouse a vigil keeps,
its beacon glows while mankind sleeps.

Steady through ocean's swells and dips,
it whispers "Godspeed" to the ships.

It comforts weary sailors, who dream of distant home,
and reminds them in their wand'rings that they are not alone.

It even speaks to those of us who will never go to sea,
for somehow and in some small way,
it always comforts me.





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