At every door there stands
A weeping sentinel.
At most, they are not seen
At some, their tears don't shine
But there stands, at every door
A weeping sentinel.

Mostly happy to hide,
retreating
into shade and shadows
amongst the leaves of exotic
trees, which despite
their roots, have travelled
lands and homes, have seen
that every door there stands
A weeping sentinel.

There are sights the Weeping
Sentinel sees, details -
Glimpses often missed by
those who pass their frontiers
For fleeting moments that exist
Solely on the thresholds
Of the Weeping sentinel.