Burdened beneath a weight unseen, Maps and letters whisper from my pack, Memories of Martha—a ghost in the folds, As I march, my soldiers' lives shine, flicker-flame fragile. The rolling hills hold secrets of their own, Heavy boots stumble over stories untold, Each step a question—how to shield them? In dreams, we fly to untouched lands, Yet dawn scolds with the starkness of reality, A leader's heart tethered to the past.