The flag was raised on the highest point of the island.
The sergeant lit his cigar and looked around..
The horizon was filled with grey shapes bobbing on an azure sea.
A rook started a tentative song.
“I could live here.” The sergeant said.
The next day he returned home where a drizzle of early snow greeted him on the quay.
Five decades he worked until a former enemy invited him back to that island.
Once more he ascended the hill where the flag had been.
There he lit his last cigar.
“I could have lived here.” The sergeant said..
The rook started a jubilant song.