C.Pat

It's the morning.
There no grin,
face of thuder,face of sin.
Mumbles words not made clear,
purposely said so you don't hear.
somtimes a smile will grace its face,
uncharted sea's,and out of place.
Bolding head knarred old look,
like somthing out of a fairy tale book.
Such bad moods,such a grump,in office chair he sat slumped.
patrols the battle lines like a tank,
no words of please ,no words of thanks.
Always first to get his drink,he don't care what we think.
Blames other for what he broke,hear the end of hash words spoke.
His blue coat,his red shirt,
clean from greece,clean from dirt.
"move them pallets"
"tidy the yard"
orders given with no regard
army sergent,army pension,
thinks we should stand to attenion