The following poem was inspired by a correspondence about trying to find the words and music to an old Music Hall song of the same title. The only item found was a monologue by Billy Bennett (Circa 1922), not the song I was looking for. However, it set my mind to cranking out the following extraneous rhyme.


I am a Lighthouse Keeper,
And I sit out here alone.
On an island strewn with rocks,
And a lighthouse made of stone.

I count the seagulls passing by,
They come here every day.
They always make a lot of noise,
But donít have much to say.

I light the light, and tend the wick,
And think a lot of thoughts.
I envy all those sailers,
When they visit all those ports.

Theyíre having fun and singing songs,
Until theyíre off to sea.
Theyíre with good friends and company,
Itís not the life for me.

Thereís not a lot of things in life,
That I would rather be,
Than just a lighthouse keeper,
Out here beside the sea.

I think on all the lives Iíve spared,
By shining out my light.
Thereís many wouldíve come to grief,
Upon a stormy night.

So do not morn for me, my friend,
And do not think Iím sad.
Iím happy in the job I do -
Itís really not so bad.

Iíll stay a lighthouse keeper,
And sit out here all alone.
On my island strewn with rocks,
And my lighthouse made of stone.