The Guardian of the Land and The Sword stand tall,
Not far from the Gates of Death.
Almost as ancient as time itself, and watching over us all,
The view can take your breath.
From a distance, in winter, they blend, all united,
Barely noticing as we swiftly age
In Winter they blanket under a beautiful snow bed
With wrinkled covers, hiding backstage
They merge in our sight and appear in our eyes,
Like a granite tidal wave,
We study the legends, sadly learn the hopeless lies,
But the truth is they cannot save,
They are beautiful, ancient, soft-rumbling rocks,
They don’t help, protect, nor defend us
Slowly changing to the ticking of their own clocks,
Just monuments to their Creator, Jesus.