A point of land, out on the coast,
above the rolling sea.
A lighthouse stands, so stark and white,
above the harbor's lee.
A monument of days gone by,
a beacon to the bay.
Where ships were guided by her light,
to safely find their way.
This sentinel of era past,
of simpler times and ways.
Of sailing ships and oil lamps,
and damp and foggy days.
Her light doth beckon from afar,
and calls me back to home.
Where as a child, I climbed her tower,
below her spired dome.
A platform topped with baluster,
surrounds her lighted tower.
And from this vantage point, aloft,
I'd daydream by the hour.
Of bygone days and ocean ways,
and ships far out to sea.
These reminisces from my past,
keep flooding back to me.
It's nice to have this special place,
a respite from life's cares.
Where I can go, in memory,
and climb her spiral stairs.
And look out to the sea once more,
above the ocean's foam.
The Old Point Loma Lighthouse still,
keeps calling me back home.
Daniel Parks