The cryptic mystic climbed the stairs to put fire to the lighthouse candle.
Two hundred circular winding steps to  his nightly destination...lives hung in the balnce....you see the ships at sea clung desperately to the streaming beams of salvation......To guide them past the ragged reefs and jagged rocks.

The Cryptic mystic huffed and stumbled, and grunted as he mumbled  " one hundred more to go".
For forty odd years, the mystical cryptic did dilligently climb to task as the setting sun did glow and bask the tower in fading light.
Preceeding dark and blinding nightfall.

Forty years and to the day or forty one I dont know which the crypic one was dutybound.

If he had only thought to look in the cellar there, he would have  seen a light switch on the southern wall.
In the lantern two hundred feet,high a massive bulb hung high above the wick and tallow
And to this day,the old man makes the climb on creaky knees a penance paid  pain.
A beam of hope for ship and scow still pierces blackest night as the cryptic one will still be found climbing up and hobbling down the winding staircase dutybound.