For thirty years I climbed these iron stairs
at dusk to trim the wick and wind the weight,
and wrote the passing ships, and said my prayers
to fogs that rolled in early or in late.
5Tomorrow comes a man with a machine
that turns itself, and never needs to sleep,
and never needs a keeper in between
the evening and the morning on the deep.
So be it. Let the clockwork have the light.
10The ships will never know whose hand is gone;
they only ask the beam to cut the night,
and it will turn, and they will travel on.
The logbook says I kept the light. That's true.
It does not say the light kept me there too.