Sentimental
A sentinel
Colored pictures would show him
Old, and gray
Weathered by winds and storms he couldn't name
Memories, weather-beaten
They fall the same
On his creased, stone face
Rivulets of rain dug in
Sweat stained
The outcropping set to collapse
A thousand years from now
He remembers when his placard stood
Not so close to the edge
And how many has he seen
Plummet, where the rocks do
He will follow one day
And no one will place his face,
Or remember
The monument to the sentinel
Stood by the river
An oceanside ringer,
Immediately recognizable
Yet once its gone
No one will know his name.