One night over the Christmas break, when the wind was gusting strongly across the English channel, on a moment of pure impulse, Katalin and I drove down to Corbiere, and went a little way down the slipway. The tide was high, lit in the beam of the lighthouse, and foam, like snow, was blowing across the slipway. We kept a safe distance, but watched this awe inspiring demonstration of the forces of nature, the waves lashing the coast, the wind buffeting the rocks. This poem comes from that night.
To the Lighthouse
Foaming waves crash on rocks at night
And the wind is howling across the sea
White horses ride the moon's pale light
And lighthouse shines on you on me
The wreckers came here ages past
Before a lighthouse, they lit beacon fire
To lure tall ships from the ocean vast
Like a burning Sirens song and lyre
Once a passage steamer struck and fell
Upon rocks where lighthouse now stands
And all were lost, and pealed the bell
The bodies washed upon the sands
As we watch the sea, gleaming in the night
The lighthouse guards, shining beams of light.
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