The beach was cold and deserted, the lapping shore now retreating beyond the light of my torch soon to roll back into view a moment later. I walked along the beach at night, and dreamed of many things. And thus wandering, I saw a little ways ahead an old lighthouse. Quiet, it was in haze obscured, but seemingly put out as on a peninsula, though what land below the structure I could not see. Dreaming or not, I thought it odd out here in this calm beach, in this lonely beach; I thought it odd to see that tower here away from all the world.
I wonder who it warns, and when its lamp is lit. But night unto night no other soul has seen the lighthouse, and I, this only time, espied the tower. I think it was a dream.