He was born youngest of a noble's three sons,
A scion of old genteel gentry.
But in our lords army that's all past and done,
And he ended up just a mere sentry.

And this did dismay him; he'd grumble and whine
When reporting for overnight duty.
He often would wonder while walking the line
How he'd ever win glory or booty.

He worked pickets at night, guard duty by day.
Stood sentry in sleet, rain and snow,
Until in frustration he was heard to say
To the latrine he just had to go.

The minutes stretched on, soon into an hour,
Then a day, then a week, month, and year.
And they wrote to his da in a dispatch quite dour,
"Your son has gone missing we fear."

The years rolled on by, and then quite by fate
His bunkmate dropped by a bordello
And who should he see, leaving at the frontgate
But the long missing, presumed dead fellow.

He was soon arrested and in prison was tossed
The charge, naturally, was desertion.
"I never deserted, I merely was lost."
Was his last execution assertion.