A young man stands, 'cause that's what's needed.
Fear not unfelt, just unheeded.
And as the wind fells those of his breed,
He doesn't falter, but steps up to lead.
The wind may bend him, scarred from the fight,
but it cannot quench his souls bright light.
One day his tired body lays, eyes close, a rest to seek,
then open again, no bend to his body, no wrinkle on his cheek.
At heavens gate old comrades toast,
then climb her wall to stand a post.
WE WILL MISS YOU 1ST SGT.
