Gothic fixtures of the ancient swamps,
Dressed in armor of thick gray moss,
As sentinels they stately stand,
Guarding fragile wetlands,
Holding their tactical line
Against the looming Gulf tide.
And even deeper south
At Mississippi’s mouth,
In river bank silt they anchor their knees,
While the tops of the trees
Affix their sights at the sky,
Engaging for defense, meeting hurricane’s eye.