MArching on the track
By Nison Mikhaylov 


The crack of dawn:

Despite the robust, icy wind,

my cadets stood at attention,

dauntless in the 3x4 formation.

 

Awed,

I commanded their reverence for the canopy above:

ashen, without opalescence,

Heaven’s eulogy.

 

I believed I could make them see,

Marching, inspections, and following command,

were not what made Man.

I hoped the firmament,

stalwart enough to contest the mighty formation,

could make them apprehend.

Alas, they responded with vacant regard.