Through all the toil, the wind brings weary feeling,
of the faded memories that once brought him joy.
The past is only but an essence of his life,
his future lies in the calm sky, blowing with the wind,
and with wondrous clouds.
Still, he waits.

The saddle is his sanctuary, whilst the war is his hell.
Progressive thoughts attack his faded memory,
and his thoughts are forever scarred.
Sepia filled vision, sees he, through the tired eyes.
Dust from wind, he sees himself with the nature,
and with wondrous clouds.
Still, he waits.

Looking out past towards his old bivouac,
The faded memories of his fallen comrades reenter his thoughts.
He was now his own brigade, saddled up, ready for battle.
Something in his mind and heart prevented him from initiating the battle,
the calming wind and the memories in the sky.
His nomadic mind, was a lost soldier, looking straight into the future,
with broken thoughts of his past,
and with wondrous clouds.
Still, he waits.