THE LONELY SENTINEL

Armored in beige, knighted with a timber ingot
He strolls around;
A metal whistle, his sole tenancy: Ends hot
Ruffled by his vulgar breath.
The coy wooden baton, his sole companion
The midnight owl's hoots, his harmony
Vast arsenic stretches studded with silver petals, his visual symphony
Dry and algid zephyrs his sole source of palpation.
Reclusive, yet not stirred
Obligation to some and yet
the Lonely Sentinel goes about his quotidian commission.