Each side of her they stand their guard, Awake presence, alert on each curb, Female figures seeking to discard A passer-by who would disturb The diseased elder's blissful sleep. Restful in her illness deep, Her dreams are easy to confide, Knowing shadows all abide By the high law of sentinels' song Whispered through the Forest's doze: "On my watch, nothing will go wrong." To chase away the night morose Their heads the waning moon reflect, While autumn leaves pay their respect by falling quietly a bit too soon, so as to avoid neglect.

yoyoba