ANZAC DAY 2004
It draws closer like the shadow of a deadly hoard,
A distant thunder, the flashing of the sword!
Ever coming nearer; marching in sullen lines,
Ghostly troops and memories from old times.
The sick feelings rise inside our selves,
As we take our shiny medals from dusty shelves,
We cannot sleep we nervously await,
The day of days; the day we love and hate.
In the night the battle cries and scrims,
Become real again escaping from our dreams.
We grieve together gathered in the dawn,
Heads bent down sad and so forlorn
We think of war; we talk of war and pray
On this day of days; this sacred ANZAC Day.
©23 April 2004 Colin F Jones
Webmaster: Thurman P. Woodfork
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