The Waiting Light

Sometimes the most powerful act is keeping the lights lit so someone can see their way home.

One drop, two drop, three drops, four
Drops of rain upon the door,
Drops of rain in bitter cold
As hope itself is growing old.

Old though hope can ever grow
The cut of day comes swift to show
A drop of rain upon the door
Precedes the boat’s return to shore.

In stormy skies, through stormy seas
The vessel sails through angry lees
To the light the brings them home:
A lantern set before they roamed.

Even so, through forest grim
A candle set by window trim
Brings the hunter home once more
To his own abiding door.

Do not lightly cast hope aside
Though days be long and cares deride.
A single light my show the way
To weary souls at cut of day.

The Waiting Light copyright © Heather Strickler 2026 all rights reserved