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| The Harbor Light The ancient lighthouse stands along the shore, but a keeper it has no more. Skilled hands that kept the lenses bright, a guide for some lost seaman in the night. The tender who turned upon the sea his watchful eye, and, sleepless, listened for a sailor's cry, Has taken his last ride back to shore. The spiral stairway hears his steps no more. And no more will his keen eye, or ear See signals of distress, or hear cries of despair above the wind-flung sea. Technology now switches on the light, timing the beam that penetrates the night. We've gained a long-sought economic goal. Retained the harbor light, but lost its soul. Author: Lawrence Anderson |
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| Page created by Rye Nov. 2003/reviewed Jan. 2004 |
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