She stands on a hill with a sentry’s sense of duty.
As she watches the horizon's fleeting beauty,
that reveals the setting sun going out of sight,
It leaves a trail of gold and blood in the dissolving light.
Sturdy has been her stem and the loads she bears
Times and tempests tossed her stock, trying it to tear.
As she balances precariously on firm tiptoes
From dizzy heights above to see the sad shadows below.
Then, she sways to overlook yonder misty valleys
She imagines the end of it all and the grand finale
with her personas scattered like idle pebbles
in the sands near the homes of all peoples.
Tears again cloud her eyes and threatens to fall,
I have seen the downfall of men, the conifer recalls
The vision she kept hidden, even to
Specter of marauding termites singing funeral dirges.