Sentinel Weathercock

Sentinel Weathercock





He presides over the landscape,

Standing watch through the winter's night.

Measures the season's time by degrees,

Pointing out to all the winds of change.


As the snow lies mute, to the emotion

That causes the icicles to cry

Winter eases its grip for a day

The sun shines in false promise



No green shows in evidence of love,

That lies buried, and deep in slumber.

Yield not to this false hope, spring is distant,

Waiting in the wings of Mother Nature's stage.



Fear not the cold North wind's message

For the sentinel weathercock understands.

He whispers in the Oaks ear it's not time yet,

Sleep now; rest your limbs awhile longer.