The Sentinel
To the brave and valiant defenders of gardeners who serve us so thanklessly
Hello my little bearded friend,
Why do you stand so still?
What keeps you from your duties end,
Denies you of free will?
Silently you stand watch
In my tiny plot of land,
Waiting steadfastly to dispatch
Militant insect brigands.
It all drives you to madness,
Threatening to rip your seams,
And your smile betrays your sadness
Which in turn gives birth to dreams
About a kingdom of your own
Among stately, well kept gardens
Where you have all but grown
A heart that never weeps: but hardens.
Where you are lord of nature,
Of all living earth and stone,
And where your girth and stature
Are above that of a Gnome.
But, alas, your dreams remain
Hidden behind your painted eyes;
And there they’ll stay, come sun or rain
Until your own demise.
Or maybe one day, maybe soon
I’ll look out on the lawn
And see your guarded kingdom ruined.
And I will know where you have gone.
(2013)
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