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Sentries perched with a shrill rifle cry
I envy the simple soldier
His ability to disappear into the grey and scare the colours away
Without a care but to guard
Losing reception, Gaining ground, Breaking ground
Collector of nothing - Building a nest from bricks
For territory, For food
For instinct defines the soldier
His chest puffed
His wings spread
To watch over only the day
Where it is safe
