BY THE BEACON'S LIGHT

By the beacon's light the watcher
Warms cold and cracking hands
Then snow blows down his collar
When the wind gusts again
His wife's probably baking
His favorite custard pie
His family safe and warm
Hid from a thing called "Life"
"How long! - How much longer!"
"Till Wilson comes on watch?"
But it's still only half past seven
As his pocket watchtop pops
Barbed wire whistles warn him
The wind's picked up again
And the felons in their warm cells
Laugh at the cold watchman
By the beacon's light the watcher
Plans a great escape
And dreams of paths to travel
- On a trip he'll never take
Such are the watcher's thoughts
As he bares his adversity
Cold, alone, and freezing
Enduring: - "Responsibility"

Copyright 2007/Stan Simons ASCAP