Noisy A

An ode to a letter never overlooked.

Twenty-six marchers in a straight line
Led by their graceful chapel
As time drags on they grow weary
But continue for their wayward god

As they count dount the fruitless seconds
He stands up, his name was called
Only drunkards can't make it
To his glorious personage

Its rare that in battalions
That he comes in at the end
And in battles not unnoticed he fights
"Soldier Five" looks at him with tear-filled eys

It's easy like simple 1-2-3
Remember his name as it grows
A battalion without him is no typo
But a horrible, major, huge mistake

And where shall we be when he goes?
There will be no point to keep going
Crushed we will be without his sight
Plight will doom our every step

He keeps intact what keeps us on
There'd be no death to hold our minds
With no death why do anything?
Oh A, you're our true motor!

The End

~C