Sentry

Sentry

A figure grafted to a distant hill:
The lone corner post for a flimsy fence,
Is standing guard, lest the morning light spill,
Cross a sudden and nameless storm-born rill,
To cast liquid shadows traveling hence.

The rickety barrier rips the day,
Scoring gashes across the morning light;
And though it may hold winter snows at bay,
Rebuff icy gales in its wobbly way,
It’s abandoned by the retreating night.

At first, it stood stately and self-possessed,
But lately, no one makes any repairs.
It stands alone, derelict and distressed;
And as snow, sun, and showers can attest,
The sentry stands guard, but nobody cares.

Mick McKellar
September 2014

Few things look as lonely as old snow fencing, weather-beaten and in disrepair.

Mick