Think of the lighthouse.
It is forever rooted to its place along a rocky shore.
It is a tall, elegant, monolith.
The lighthouse braves the typhoon, it faces the crashing waves, it is immovable against hail, gale, and squall.
The lighthouse bears the blaze of burning sun, faces the chills of freezing rain, and stares down the hurricane.
The lighthouse is welcoming to visitors, it is most gracious to picture takers, and it is resolute when alone.
Day in, and day out. It shines its light.
Sunrise, to sunset. It’s beacon burns bright.
Dawn, to dusk. It sends its warning signs.
Daylight to darkness, it cares for those blind.
For all the lighthouse may endure, all the safety it ensures, the warnings it sends, and the reassurances it gives, all those vulnerable it protects, and the lost it redirects, it still shines its ever-enduring, bright beacon.
Still. Someone, must tend to its light.