The Light
My father left this rocky coast
Upon a southbound brigantine;
To make his fortune, he did boast,
Six months along the Argentine.
A lighthouse lit our lonely cove
For more than fifty years in all.
The beacon of my mother’s love
N’er quenched a night, as I recall.
Long have I scanned the sky;
My sons have come and gone. I cry:
“O, who shall carry on the light
That shone in mother’s eyes, so bright?”
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