Each day a changing of the guard occurs
No bearskin hat precariously perched
No scarlet runic bright like a flower
No gold buttons grouped in fours
Just a platoon of me switching out
With each new need and necessary post
Trooping about at their post and protecting
The feelings that I have left to impart
But only with you are the gates open
The guards given leave to rest as I
Confer upon my life the gift of being me
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