I was tending the Light,
For the last time at Night,
When I saw a glow
Way out in the Bay.
Not the usual lantern lights,
At bow, and stern, and
Up the mast.


It was glowing,

Steady,

Not the flickering

When brushed

By the wind.


It’s the First of October,
And the ghosts,
Well,
The ghosts are getting ready.

It’s that time of year.
The dying time.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL