And Now, The Watchtower

And now, the watchtower of your dreams
Stands empty in the wilderness;
A fortress, once, of all you hoped
And daily sought in faithfulness

The winter can be cruel, it’s true:
It strips away our fine veneer
And leaves us huddled in our rooms
With chocolate bars and Edward Lear

But out there, in the absent air,
There stands a structure, worn and frail,
That was the watchtower of your dreams –
Propped up by stick
And coffin nail

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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