Stone Watcher

Stone wings spread to engulf the sky,
guardian over all.
From his vantage
on the highest turret,
he stares relentlessly
at the streams of pilgrims and priests
in burlap robes and denim coats.
Age-cracks and moss-crust
cover him as millions of bones pass
beyond his gaze
in his ten-century watch
over stained glass and flying buttresses.

Notes: As with most of my poems, this was done for Writing class. I don't like this one much anymore… Perhaps a new ending?

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