This one is easy, but you must be sure
to make it bright and true. A tall lighthouse,
standing within a desert, as it were—
dunes that a year of rain would fail to douse.
That is precisely how he worked. He would,
for many years, give light to many lands.
Though waterless, for now, his tower’s good
would be dispersed, for now, o’er thankless sands.
But not for too long. Light is visible,
and will be seen, e’en if its source is dead.
It goes wherever. Impermissible
is not a word that light has ever read.
Deaf eyes may close their mouths and taste it not,
but light will be, if not in eyes, in thought.
~~~
This is the stormcloud. Harder than you think,
so draw a flat line, and curves o’er the top.
Shade in the curves, the center void of ink,
and detail as you wish, or let it drop.
It doesn’t need to be that pretty. No,
she wouldn’t care for that. Her storms are caused
by what she hates to see where she must go—
by what makes ever her ancient eyes paused.
But you can make it pretty, if you want.
It would be quite a welcome gift to her.
She is too oft depicted far too gaunt
than she is, really. That, she must endure.
You love the fruits of rain. Pretty her tears
with how you draw her symbol through your years.