The Soldier

He knew his time was short
He knew he would soon die
There was no need to cry
For combat he would report
Hunting him would be a sport
All he could do was try
On the enemy he would spy
It would be up to God to sort
He would wear death like a wart
Soon it would be done
He would see his departed kin
His battle would be won
He would rest peacefully then
The killing shot never came
He would live to once more endure the game.