There he stands,
flintlock at the ready,
standing so far above.
He's been there for decades,
ready to stop the birds
and planes passing through,
lashed at by the storms, but
immune to the elements
the sentry from another time.
Yards and yards beneath his gaze,
the graves of his comrades,
rest forever in crisp formation,
straightly aligned men who fourght and fell.
Above them all, a sentry atop a giant tower,
stands watch over a small patch of stone,
on a summer's day, cooler than usual,
as thebreeze lashes the trees around him.
Standing erect among the treetops.
And among those paying their last respects,
that man Lincoln, again.
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I enjoyed the commanding presence you delivered!
From Love's Sunrise To Eventide's Bounty
Vickie
Love Tinka