Dear Scantily Clad Man,

You of all people must know what it feels to be warm.
As you tread through this storm
A blizzard is born,
In your mind, what words do you form?

The price one pays for freedom of speech
are cold hands and cold feet
and I wonder,
as you file so close you can hardly fit
and from left and right you get constantly hit,
Is the road in the end still brightly lit?
Do you have the strength to wholly commit?

You mouth is turned white from words hard to express
What goes through your mind? I can’t hardly guess.
Are you mad? Are you sad?
Still you whisper “ Have courage comrade.”

One, Two, Three,
The first fall to their knee.
Four, Five, Six,
that’s the end of your tricks.
Seven, Eight, Nine,
get rid of the swine.

And still somehow, through the quiet snow
in comes in clear and slow
“Arise, ye prisoners of starvation..”
Go forth and defend your nation.

-The Warmly Clad Soldier