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There were rough seas at night,
But they did not keep me awake
For long.

The lighthouse keeper’s house
Has thick, stone walls
Like the lighthouse itself.
Built to last.

I snored away.

But the next day,

Which is clear but full of

Rough seas.

I walk the shore
Of Partridge Island,
To see what’s

Been blown in.

There’s always something.

Today, there is a dory,
As pristine as if someone
Had just rowed her here.

Though there are no
Oars.
Or any other item,
Or name on bow.
Barely a trace

Of water, awash

On it’s flat bottom.

I doubt I’ll ever
Know its origin,
Or its history.

In a couple of months
It’s mine to keep.

‘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 sea,lighthouse,history,poem,poetry,harbor,harbour,Partridge Isl