Watcher

Watcher


In shadows deep, where moonlight wanes,
The Watcher sits, amidst the plains.
Silent sentinel, lone and wise,
With ancient gaze, beneath starlit skies.


Through whispers carried on the breeze,
He hears the secrets of the trees.
In every rustle, every sigh,
He finds the truths that never die.


He watches as the seasons turn,
The flames of dusk, the dawn's concern.
In every dawn, a tale untold,
In every dusk, a dream unfolds.


His eyes, the mirrors of the night,
Reflecting all, in their soft light.
A witness to the ebb and flow,
Of life's eternal, rhythmic show.


Yet, though he sees, he does not judge,
For he is but a silent drudge.
A guardian of the silent hours,
Among the trees, the fields, the flowers.


So let him watch, in tranquil peace,
His vigilance shall never cease.
For in his gaze, there lies the key,
To all the wonders that may be


By Cathrin Stuart