Graphic by MamaBear
The Sentry
It climbs up from the rocky shore,
A fist made out of stone.
Defiant against Nature’s wrath,
To claim it for its own.
Forlorn against the elements,
And lonely on the line,
It brings an element of hope,
And helps to make it shine.
This is the place of battle,
The stone against the sea.
Unyielding stubbornness
Thus meets eternal enmity.
Unending anger storms onto,
A calm, determined place,
And wails until its furor wanes,
No tears found on this face.
It is a sign of lasting love.
The mason and his crew,
Have crafted hardened heartstones,
As gifts to an unknown you.
You look out from the tossing decks,
And know just where you stand.
The light gives friendly stay-aways,
This is no place to land.
Thus even though it stands alone,
This beacon does not call,
But tells the others “Danger here!”
A lonely friend to all.
On cloudless, sunny days it seems,
That much more lonely still,
If works can turn the coming tide,
The gallant lighthouse will.
The sentry does not know about,
The worth his work has done,
But in the dark despair of night,
His soul shines like a sun.
NicknamedBob . . . April 17, 2004
