The three sentinels

Four hours past the midnight gong,
Awake even after having been without sleep for more than a day,
Us three sentinels of our minds stand guard.
We gaze upon a lone branch of a tree,
Visible to us outside our gate of freedom.
This branch gives rise to smaller branches,
Arising from which are leaves appearing dark against a twilight sky.
One of us carries a smoking device
While the other two hold goblets
Containing potions of a high spirited kind.
All three are gazing at the branch,
With the sunlight dancing over it,
Highlighting at times the undersides of the dark branch
And at other times the green of new leaflets.

Each sees a different story in the lone sight they are allowed
While they sip their poison and listen to notes played
In the distance to form sweet music.

Many a year ago, here they stood to gaze upon this branch, these free men.
Many a year later they will come again to gaze upon this lone branch
Which when will have a thicker form, newer leaves through many autumns and springs
And, perhaps, some flower or fruit.

For it, to all of us, all the best.