The Sentinel
A gnarled sentinel of time, it stands,
Its blackened branches, a cursive script
against winter’s bleached endless page.
Each scar a story, each knot a closed eye
saw the first sapling’s hope take root,
felt the sun when all this world was young.
时间的哨兵，它站着，
它的黑色树枝，一个草书
与冬天漂白的无尽页相比。
每个疤痕都是一个故事，
每个结都是闭着的眼睛
看到第一树苗的希望生根发芽，
当整个世界都很年轻的时候，
感受到了太阳。
Thank you for reading. I appreciate your time. Many Blessings.
I love short poems you know. Sometimes they are more powerful than the big long ones which try to romanticise things too much. Great. And I am sorry, but is that Japanese under the English one?
❤️❤️❤️