Poem By sylvia spencer
There on a cliff was a shadow, from where I could see
it looked far away. The wind was blowing and it felt as
if snow was on it's way. Upon that cliff top there once stood
a house built of stone. Her stone and cobbles were painted
white and on her roof she carried a beaming light.
In her days of Pomp and Glory, there were many a sailor
who told a good story. Ones of ghosts and things of the night
all making their way to the beacon light. Through tempest and
in calm these old sailors would roam, and saftly they would return
because the beacon light would bring them home;
she carried them over many a rough wave and saved their ships
from a watery grave.No more does she stand where she did before;
with her flashing beacon throwing light of the shore.
The story goes she is beyond repair,
it really is sad to see this despair;
She lays almost forgotton on shifting sand.
The cliffs have eroded and she fell with the land.
The shadow I saw was the light from a beam.
That's the ghostly thing it was no dream.
Sailors tell of long ago when a ship was wrecked far below.
Her beam went out for one costly second
and thats when our Dear Lord beconed.
Fifty souls were lost to a watery grave
because the beacon failed to behave.
There now lingers a shadow; and we know
it's no dream, they say its the ghost of the beam.
The one that never shone bright
on that most unfortunate night.