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| Softly the beacon’s horn cries out in the cold wintry night. She cries to the lonely old cowboy as he rides with the herd. Her calls are heard by a midnight trucker pulling the high pass; and to the worried watchman, on the wall as he goes in harm’s way. Calling us homeward, safe from the storm; calling us homeward to peace, rest and love. |
| Each holds in common; although alone in the night; that empty feeling of being lost somewhere out of time. For surely God made a home for the lonely, somewhere on this earth, a place with warming fires, hot meals, and warmer hearts. It is said ‘No Man is an Island’ but the empty night is the great leveler of men. |
| She stands there calling, this ‘Lady of Light’ equally alone; wanting nothing more than to have her man home. She only wants to have someone love her; to accept her love in return, for this beacon of hope inside us one and all is but another name for the beacon of love |
For My Special Lady
