by Wayfarer
(closetwayfarer at yahoo dot com)
Far across sundering seas,
Standing tall upon the isle,
the tower beckons unseen
Lonely calls, faint cries of gulls,
echo under eaves of white.
Dust dance now in silent aisles
A glimpse of blessed light
Ever it is yearning for,
Though now joy is in flight
A beacon to the blessed shore
Where a mariner’s search shall cease
Though it shudders still from memories of war