Anzacs

Below the dark earth, bone on bone,

soldiers lie buried far from home.

Persuaded that the cause was just,

their blood was spilled; their weapons rust.

Did they recall the children's game

when friend and foe pretended pain.

When flags on sticks were held up high

for gallant heroes, marching by?

Each year, in early morning pallor,

sombre mourners praise their valour.

And underneath the circling moon,

bone lies on bone in earth's dark tome.

Angela Johnson, Pearl Beach