I stood before radar, before radio's call, a guardian through tempest and squall. By flame, by lens, by electric might, I pierced the dark with guiding light. Who am I, watching each night?

I am always running, yet I never move from my bed. I carve valleys, but I have no hands.

On cold arctic nights, I shimmer, shine and dance, A mesmerizing wave, will leave you stunned at a glance, I will paint the sky, with wonderful light, A wonder of color, Such a beautiful sight

My water is hot and steamy, close to a boil, it rests beneath the rocky soil. When pressure climbs, it rises with might, and suddenly bursts upwards, what a sight!

I circle the waist in fabric neat, Or hug the edge where land and street. I dodge the truth with sidelong pace, Yet frame the bottom with modest grace.