Straight and tall, poised and polished,
Bathed with the purity of white
The silent sentinels stand guard
Along the quiet streets and lanes;
A symbol of serenity,
Of a haven housing peace and love;
Standing duty round the clock,
They drop their guard to welcome
home
The weary work-worn wayward souls
Who toil to keep them in repair.
Their gates swing open, beckoning,
Inviting in with loving care.
Not a barrier at all
Are these brave soldiers of the
lane;
Their presence not intended to
Lock out a single sound or soul.
Instead they bid a welcoming
And offer sanctuary
When panic rushes from all sides
And madness takes its toll.
Picket fences... purest white...
Vigilant both day and night.
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