A Psalm
By the Watchman Dana G Smith
The wind blows, wafting gently over the hills,
past the prairie, onto the stand of pines.
In the distance, these pines stand aloft, looking forward,
standing strong on the cleft of the rocks.
Here on these sheer peaks, they look on as watchmen,
greeting the winds, holding back the sway of the gentle breezes.
The watchmen, erect on the tower, look over the prairie.
All is well, they seem to speak, settle down, and turn away.
The wind grows, gentle at first, then shifting more violently,
howling and screaming torments at the watchmen,
these look on, facing the fury at its peak.
