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There is a word for it,

A simple word,

And the word goes around.

It curves like a staircase,

And it goes up a staircase,

And it is a staircase.

An iron staircase

On the side of a lighthouse

All in his head.

And it makes no sound at all

Inside his head,

Unless he says it.

Then the keeper

Steps on the rung,

The bottom rung,

And the ascent begins,

Clangorous,

Rung after rung.

He wants to keep the light going,

If he can.

But the man closing up

Does not say the word.