Between the strand of sea and dark of night
I look across to see the stars of earth
which gleam and make a shadowed world alight.
It is a dawn made of dark and strange birth.
But if the moon and stars had blessed this rise
to such heavenly bodies I would ask
what morn will come to us and what of skies?
But there is none for this poetic task.
None, save the lights from towers standing tall.
There lives a surety in such staunch things,
that neither bow to wind, nor live in thrall;
They stand in strength while pelted by rain’s sting.
Their beacons gleam, a joy for all who see
and know what was and years away shall be.