Colin F. Jones


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 wait
The day of days; the day we love and hate.
In the night the battle cries and screams,
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.

Author’s Note: To those whom it may concern: I take this moment to wish you well for ANZAC Day… and peace and goodwill to all who have served in war