A lookout

A lookout stood,

far not from my home.

I walked past it

every single day.

Seasons go past.

It stands there unused,

forgotten by

everyone but me.

In spring rains fell,

the wood swelled from them.

A thunderstorm

hit it, but not split.

Then summer came.

Scorched it till it was

dry as tinder.

Strain didn't take it down.

Autumn said "Hi".

Leaves a carpet made.

A beaver took

one of it's four legs.

In winter's hug

the lookout stood out,

but didn't fall down

under heavy blows.

Decades went past,

the lookout still stands,

without a leg,

but just not yet dead.