The Sitting Watcher

He sits with his knees drawn up under his chin,

A long-nosed old fellow with stone for a skin.

Not standing on guard and not ready to leap —

Just permanently settled, as if half-asleep.

His eyes are half-lidded, his mouth almost wry,

Like someone who’s seen every season go by

And decided the best thing a watcher can do

Is simply keep sitting and letting time through.

Place him on step, shelf, or moss-covered ground.

He will not give chase and he makes little sound.

A small, stubborn presence that stays where he’s put —

The Sitting Watcher, content in his nook.

Height 5"