The Unhappy Guard

Once visiting the capital of Britain
I stopped to see the Palace guard march by.
I thought he looked the part: content, hard-bitten.
But then this vision came as a reply.

…

By any standards he should have been glad.
He had the work a lot of people envy:
To walk all day and be dressed up not bad,
To have his cozy shelter with no levy.

The fashion-crazy marveled at his hat
And wanted it to be in their style.
All show-offs that I have ever met
Would sure kill to be so high-profile.

And tourists flocked in numbers to see him,
To take a photo of the man so dignified.
But was he happy? No, he was grim.
To add to this he was dissatisfied.

To start, he quite disliked the British weather,
Its fickleness and that it’s mostly wet.
Then he was constantly alone, not together
With friends and family. This often made him fret.

Quite shy but being watched by many
He was in stress (like chicks before a fox).
And, the coincidence is utterly uncanny,
The sentry felt claustrophobic in his box.

You ask: «But why he wouldn’t drop this mission?»
The answer is both simple and complex:
The dynasty! In other words, the family tradition.
All the forefathers he remembered had this hex.

…
And so I wonder if it’s really worth it:
When you forgo what you like to please your kin
But then, in turn, require that your kid
Should do the same and throw dreams into a bin.