The Last Lantern

Introduction to The Last Lantern

There are places that hold time like Dust — quiet corners, stone sheds tucked at field edges, where the world slows and softens, and the past lingers, not as a shout, but a hush. This poem walks gently into one such place; an old shed, weathered by rain and years, where rain taps slate, cobwebs drape like forgotten lace, and silence settles deep.

It is not a poem of loud loss or grand drama, but of small, sacred stillness: the flash of a swallow vanishing, the rough grain of worn wood, iron breathing its cold sharp scent, and finally — the last lantern. Polished clear of dust, it holds no flame now, only the quiet of all the light it once kept, all the moments it once lit.

Rooted in the soft, breathing quiet of our land, it asks us only to pause — to see beauty in what remains, and honour the silence that keeps memory safe.

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Glossary:

Tost : short ‘o’ as in cost : silence

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The Last Lantern





Rain taps slow on slate,
stone breathes cool, damp and late.


The door complains a long, low creak, 


a swallow flares, quick and sleek - 
gone before the eye can trace 


shadow fading into space.


Dust drifts up where light leans thin,
soft as breath where beams begin.


Cobwebs hang in trailing veils,
strung where quiet  air prevails, 
and high, apart, where shadows cling,
a spider waits on silken string.


Palm runs along the grain of wood, 
worn smooth, deep where damp has stood.
Spokes lean thin, frame warped, bent, 
carriage bones, weathered, spent.
Iron breathes its cold, sharp scent.



Fingers brush dust from brass and glass - 
cobwebs yield, thin, frail.
Fogged clears where light may pass,
the lantern holding quiet still.


Worn handle, rim of rust, 
no flame within, only dust.


Rain has slowed - its hush descends,
drumming soft on slate’s dark ends.


Grey light leans in, gentle now,
touching where the shed allows.


And all within is hushed, and still – 
Tost hangs heavy, soft, and chill.







Copyright © 2026 Pat Fitzgerald 
All Rights Reserved 

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Thank you for joining me on this journey of writing and discovery. Poetry, for me, is a continuous learning process. A way of finding my own voice and writing style and exploring the beauty of words.

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