the sentinels are no more

the sentinels that guard washington boulevard and 12th street are no more.
theya re dead or dying in the throes of the season as it pushes its
way toward the equinox.

their bodies remain. though, al beauty has departed.
they are sickly beasts, now ignored by all alike.

true, though, that only weeks ago, their heads stood tall,
proud and preening for all to look at and admire.

they were red, yellow, pink and purple.
they spoke in tones and shades.
they sang songs of enchantment for the unsuspecting.
they marched at attention, never failing, always rigid.

through wind and rain, they stood aloft,
through cold night breezes and shady days they thrived,
screaming with too warm a day arrivedand greeted them hello.

through ohs an ahs they stood their ground, through snapping
bulbs and video they tolerated, nay, they smirked.
they get what they want, if only for a time.

but as tender days arrive, the sentinel must depart,
for it hates those days, dreaming of a time when frost
lingers at and grasps its body tight.

farewell all, i will return to once more guard
those streets with my own kind, line them with shades
only dreamed of in the minds of man.