Rest in the soldiers march.

Free-form poetry?

The tired soldier lays down his pack
And slouches down onto the wet ground
The top of the hill has good vantage
And tall grasses conceal as they sway around him

The wind blows, cooling him
Chilling the sweaty uniform
which sticks to his body
And gives him a refreshing shiver

Normally he would sleep given a minute
But this is too serene and must be enjoyed
He listens to the grass as he gazes up at the stars
A strange situation to find such peace

He pokes up his head,
Viewing his fellows doing the same
the sigh of weights being again lifted
As the commander whispers; onward march