Across the great expanse of dry, rough ground;

stubby grass whose thirst has never been quenched

despite distant water–close as well as far.

It is here that the watcher always stands;

silent, leaning; leafless beneath the sun.

Years and decades has this sentinel stood;

knarled by his trials–bowed by the times.

It has witnessed the joy of the summer,

as well as winter’s isolating chill.

How much has it witnessed at its sole post?

How much time and memory has gone by?

The answers to those it shall always keep.

The sun rises, the dry wind rustles by;

it shall watch forever on–for all time.

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