The Lighthouse Noah Veras ’29 She met him by the salted shore, his lantern low with flame; he swore to guide her evermore, and let the sea take blame. His voice was smoke, his smile a snare, his words were ropes of rhyme; he bound her heart with sailor’s care, then left her with the tide. The lighthouse burned from dusk till dawn, its beam both blade and balm; it carved her name on cliffs of stone, then faded into calm. She waits where waves and whispers meet, a ghost in gown of white; his promise – keep her safe and sweet – still breaks against the night. Now sailors say the sea still sighs, her song beneath the spray; and every ship that passes by is led the other way. 54
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