Number 10 in my protest series of sonnets.
Fain I stood; proud and tall atop the hill.
Such vantage point, I watched the twinkling lights.
For I’d been charged with keeping beacons filled,
safeguard henceforth, each lamp burn stellar bright.
Fair was the post, lamps vouchsafed to my care.
Ne’er once did I let one lone light quiver;
whilst in my presence, breathing selfsame air,
’twas oft a gift to be true care giver.
We weathered many storms, my lamps and I,
Illness, snow fall, lightning, and the rest
In times of grief, we clung as one and cried;
we prayed that all might be heaven blest.
There is great joy, to keep those lamps a’lit.
May my stone read thus, when my life is writ.
— — June 2020. [David L. Stanley:DStan58]
