# The Corporal’s Wish; or, One and the Same

An interruption befell one Thomas Walter
On his daily stroll through the park
(And a lovely day it had thus been)
When not very long after his embark
He heard a certain lowly singer, Edwin
Who’s harmony caused Thomas to falter.

Thomas, who I find is better known
As the great Corporal Walters of HCav,
Quickly became jealous of the vocalist.
Though many skills the Corporal did have,
So many I would dare not try to list,
He certainly could not keep a tone.

Edwin occupied his thoughts all day
(As did all the skills that he lacked)
And when night fell, though his men slept,
The Corporal’s mind raced until he cracked.
Then the insomniac broke down and wept
And this is what he did desperately say: 

“He can sing and trill and harmonize
And charm people with his serenades
I can only fight and nothing more,”
(He said, forgetting his own skills in spades).
“I wish I were that troubadour”
Was the last thing he said before he closed his eyes.

	*	*	*	*   *

As morning broke, the Corporal sprang out of bed,
Which for Thomas was quite extraordinary,
And was filled with sudden vitality
So he sang out in a manner cheery.
When the other cavalrymen heard his tonality
They were forced awake and seeing red.

“Who may be this unwelcome baritone?”
Asked a groggy young trooper
“Surely you recognize your fellow comrade,”
Said Thomas, “even in your tired stupor?”
But all the men seemed confused and mad
As though Thomas was a stranger unknown.

Thomas decided now to take his daily trip
So the other men could quell their mood.
He sang throughout his promenade
And wondered how he was imbued,
To the anger of his brigade,
With such sudden and wonderful musicianship

It was not long before he again ran into Edwin,
But this time they joined each other in a song *pour deux*
Until Edwin turned around to see the other serenader.
Edwin suddenly fled, without even bidding *adieu*
As though Thomas was an alien invader
Which, given this morning, made Thomas’ head spin

Thomas pulled out a hand mirror to look in the glass
And found to his alarming revelation
That no longer was he Corporal Thomas anymore,
But in the mirror, by some celestial conflation,
He saw the face of the lowly troubadour
And was filled with confusion that sorrow would then surpass.

Contemplating how to live as the troubadour’s clone,
He realized the merits of his men and horse.
The life he once wished to leave behind
In pursuit of another, seemingly better, course
Was not so bad, all things combined
Compared to the life of a doppelgänger all alone.