The Pharos at Alexandria


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.


The End

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