Sentinel Historical Lacombe Poetry

SENTINEL

One hundred years standing
resplendent, vigilant
worn down by time
but taken up again
higher by honest, honoured hands
surveyor of Barnett’s choice
the merchant gateway
to civilization and taming the prairie.

The structure dug into the land,
land that held tracks of a holy Father, man of good heart
wanderer to the wildest parts of the landscape,
uttering Cree, black robed, undaunted apostolic claiming his territory,
bringing them altogether, a power for peace which bullet or

blizzard could not break.

                                   Sitting on the block of land, carved by the rails
                                 letting the rumble of iron hooves, throb steely veins into it
                                lock memories in stone, rock it to sleep at night
                                 as men and cargo lumbered through the corridor
                                north to south, south to north, with many stopping
                             to stare at it’s flat iron face.

                            Many times Jack stood on the stone steps
                              watching his wife repeatedly acting out the open arms
                         welcome scene to a variety of strangers
                       who tumbled from boxcars, burdened with baggage
                       and fresh new dreams, under the gaze of this lofty sentinel,
                       secure, trusted proclaiming prosperity.