helping sailors on their way.
Across the darkened sky you
shine, revealing those underwater
Stars and moons seem dull,
in comparison to your
Ironic that a beacon, an aid,
should stand on a barren, rocky
shore. Would I have trembled to
drop anchor there, despite my wondering
awe? I may be no sailor but
you I can
Below you stretches the
Hepstadion causeway, that line
between your island and Alexandria
to stop you floating away.
Away. Time runs from you
and your flames have subsided:
No more are you, great dazzling Pharos.