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.
I commanded their reverence for the canopy above:
ashen, without opalescence,
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.