There stood a barren outpost,
above lichen-borne, slimy rock.
A beacon, of the oncoming darkness,
that greets every life ere the ebon night,
wreathing, dancing around every flickering flame.
Yet the demise of the golden, glaring light,
brings white rays o'er my head,
an illumination, revealing my weary surroundings.
O twinkling stars, mother moon,
indeed am I indebted to thine peace,
to experience such fear, yet behold such beauty,
pensive, but great and mighty.
Blessed am I indeed, by thou creator,
and mine too now.