The Sentinels

They are here
Sentinels
Still and straight as Celtic crosses
Plaid and inlay
Woven with visions within their tresses
Carved from the bleached carcass of driftwood tortured in the surf

Then gone-but not quite
Held as an echo in the moan in the wind
the trembling light on the headland
the lyric of the gull
the light in your eyes.......

poem by Anthony Dalby
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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