The Lighthouse

Rising once more to that wistful scene,
    I gazed across the harbour
Lingering on my luminous queen,
    Captive to remote ardour
 
Consumed by a sincere persistence,
    I cast off for that beacon
But in the distance, I sensed resistance,
    My hopes began to weaken
 
Yet steadfast I held on to that flame,
    Despite the fade of its call
Until it was plain, the nearer I came,
    Not a lighthouse, after all
 
And as I passed by my sweet vision,
    Regretting its toppled throne
I saw through the act of abscission,
    That fair light, solely my own