POEM: The Sentinel

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The lopsided crooked grin

That isn’t quite a smile

He keeps his consul within

Frozen thoughts are more his style.

The piercing unblinking stare

That’s not as friendly as you think

He watches from wintry lair

As into cushions you gently sink.

Those wrinkled grasping hands

That branch from snow packed sides

He silent broods and stares

Created by a season, he derides.

Adrian McRobb

Cramlington