The
Watchmen stand tirelessly,
On the
walls.
Their
eyes focused on what lay ahead,
They
warn only, with their calls.
Change
is coming,
Calls
the watchman from his perch.
The
weather is changing,
Here
in the earth.
The
storms are building,
Just
outside the walls.
The
clouds are darkening,
Are
the words of their calls.
Many
still walk aimlessly,
Ignoring
the watchmen as they go.
Thinking
the storm will pass yet again,
As
it has before, moving to and fro.
Certain
that the storm,
Could
not come this way.
Thinking,
that storm,
Is
reserved, for yet another day.
As
a fine rain,
Begins
to fall.
Now
the Watchman grows louder,
with
his call.
Ezekiel
33:6
But
if the watchman see the sword come, and blow not the trumpet, and the people be
not warned; if the sword come, and take any person from among them, he is taken
away in his iniquity; but his blood will I require at the watchman‘s hand
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