The Lighthouse Keeper’s youth was gone! Gone, too, his youthful power
That he’d once used to push ajar the dust-hatch leading to the tower
His body frail, his legs lock-kneed, his eyelids sunset-seared
And below his weathered face hung wild the Lighthouse Keeper’s Beard.
His Beard was made of all you might expect from facial hair
Coarse and white, it strained even the moonlight from the air
And dripping from it like a gross, disgusting chandelier
Were remnants of the snacks who’d passed beyond the Lighthouse Keeper’s Beard.
When the Lighthouse Keeper dragged his bent and broken frame each night
Up to the highest creaking stair to post a soft and flickering light
In the silhouetted window where ships could see its beacon as they steered
The Lighthouse Keeper would trip across his overly long Beard.
And so one evening in a salty rage the Keeper made his plan!
He cursed his Beard and with his candle waiting ready on its stand
He lit instead another wick, cackling madly as he seared
The brittle tips of wispy hair at the edges of his Beard.
But - ah! - the Lighthouse Keeper hadn’t thought this through from every angle
As flame hungrily began consuming crumbs concealed in beardy tangles
“O lackaday! Miscalculation!” the Keeper cried in greasy fear
As smoke climbed upwards like a fuse atop the Lighthouse Keeper’s Beard.
Then, as the Keeper said his prayers - his Lighthouse now his tomb!
A hero came stampeding forth to save him from his doom:
Yes! -there! A hunk of juicy watermelon out from silver curly whisker peered
And with its wetness doused the fire and saved the Lighthouse Keeper’s Beard.
And so, his fortunes now restored, the Keeper wakes each day
And shaves his face down to the cheek to keep his Beard away
He whistles as he does his chores, he swings wide the heavy dust-hatch
And polishes with satisfaction the Lighthouse Keeper’s Moustache.
That he’d once used to push ajar the dust-hatch leading to the tower
His body frail, his legs lock-kneed, his eyelids sunset-seared
And below his weathered face hung wild the Lighthouse Keeper’s Beard.
His Beard was made of all you might expect from facial hair
Coarse and white, it strained even the moonlight from the air
And dripping from it like a gross, disgusting chandelier
Were remnants of the snacks who’d passed beyond the Lighthouse Keeper’s Beard.
When the Lighthouse Keeper dragged his bent and broken frame each night
Up to the highest creaking stair to post a soft and flickering light
In the silhouetted window where ships could see its beacon as they steered
The Lighthouse Keeper would trip across his overly long Beard.
And so one evening in a salty rage the Keeper made his plan!
He cursed his Beard and with his candle waiting ready on its stand
He lit instead another wick, cackling madly as he seared
The brittle tips of wispy hair at the edges of his Beard.
But - ah! - the Lighthouse Keeper hadn’t thought this through from every angle
As flame hungrily began consuming crumbs concealed in beardy tangles
“O lackaday! Miscalculation!” the Keeper cried in greasy fear
As smoke climbed upwards like a fuse atop the Lighthouse Keeper’s Beard.
Then, as the Keeper said his prayers - his Lighthouse now his tomb!
A hero came stampeding forth to save him from his doom:
Yes! -there! A hunk of juicy watermelon out from silver curly whisker peered
And with its wetness doused the fire and saved the Lighthouse Keeper’s Beard.
And so, his fortunes now restored, the Keeper wakes each day
And shaves his face down to the cheek to keep his Beard away
He whistles as he does his chores, he swings wide the heavy dust-hatch
And polishes with satisfaction the Lighthouse Keeper’s Moustache.