The Honour Guard

The honour guard are glass eyed on parade,

waiting for inspection

and the day for which they've trained.

Double ranks in waiting

for the chief of the command,

the never coming skirl and drums

of  massed and marching bands.

This honour guard stands alert

both day and through the night,

despite the chaos on the outside,

resolutely bolt upright.

Crimson on the tunic,

the tam o’ shanters straight,

you never know what this guard

may love or what it hates.

Now after decades of their drill,

you hear them coming double time,

a tattoo sounding on the drums,

up to the threshold, here they come,

the honour guard of kingdom come.