The Drill Sergeant's Lament by Owen Townend
She left right left right left right away. I don’t know but I’ve been told I’m rough, not ready to be good as gold. One, two. Sound off. Three, four. Sound off. Five, six. I miss the sound of her voice. Lift your hands up to the sky she drilled the heart of this GI. If I should die in this camp, bury me beside that tramp. Her company halts.