Crab Island Light
The sea beats in at the headland spur
Then rounds Crab Island Reef,
The rip is a grey and swirling dearth
That will drag you underneath,
Then it hums and moans as it rounds the reef
And it howls in a winter storm,
'Til it beats up hard on the inland beach
Where the Light still stands, forlorn.
I kept that Light in my younger days
With my wife, sweet Mary Anne,
She swept and cleaned while I kept the glass
Of those mirrors spic and span,
I cleaned and polished them well by day
And tended the Light by night,
To warn seafarers of reef and rocks
With the beam of the Island Light.
But evenings, then, we'd lock the doors
And we'd climb up, out of reach
For the crabs would swarm by their thousands then
From the reef, on the inland beach,
They covered the beach like a devil's plague
And scavenged for carrion flesh,
So we stayed inside to the skittering sound
Of the crabs, attacking the mesh.
My Mary Anne had a brother then
Who took to the sea in ships,
He'd often pass by the Light, and then
Would visit us, bearing gifts.
He brought joss sticks of sandalwood,
Of Jasmine, Amber and Musk,
His gifts of pearls and ointments, brought
In a longboat, nearing dusk.
He'd stay the night, and tell us then
Of treasures he'd seen on board,
Of perfumes, gold medallions,
Of silver, an endless hoard.
We joked about smugglers long ago
Who'd lured ships onto the rocks,
Then killed the crews as they crawled ashore
And carried the cargoes off.
Young Martin, he was a friendly lad,
And he loved his sister well,
While she adored, and she spoiled him too
For the tales that he had to tell,
But I - I sat by the sweeping Light
[...] Read more
poem by David Lewis Paget
Added by Poetry Lover
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