The Watches

This shall be as ever it should:
I watch myself as once I stood
At twilight looking heavenward,
The soldier with the wooden sword.

What boy so perilously meant
To cast away threadbare want,
What real sword, what bayonet,
Presenting arms at a world event,
Ever remained as innocent
As any boy whose sunrise let
Slings go wherever his watchers went.
In the brotherhood of each estate,
While the rainbow’s Iris pours pure sight,
Before he’s born they are born to wait –
And be the thugs that steal the light.