Sentinel of Stone

Long have grown the grasses green about my cracking base
Running o’er the ancient paths, along the learned grounds
Covering the bones of men who lived and bled and died amongst the years
Constant in their living hue, these blades preserve the memory of age
Thoughts of learning
Thoughts of rivers running strong
Thoughts of blood and violent sport
And here I stand, a sentinel of stone, a marker for the dead

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