April 21, 2014


I don’t need a bugler blowin’ Reveille,
to rally me to the cause.
I’m waiting for more
to rise to the call
and help patch
the cracks
in the wall.

Our culture’s shot through
from the red, white and blue
proudly flown in peace time and war.
Stories from old,
clear in my mind.

The old man with his mates
and their humour,
sometimes black,
with knowing, wry smiles
Blown out with ambush and disasters.
Battling the odds as they tried,
winning and losing,
breaking even,
returning for try
upon try.

Front line troops from Gallipoli to El Alamein,
Western fronts devastating front-line.
They fought in ’em all,
the short, long and tall.

Blocking the japs on Kokoda
before pushing them back to their shores.
They snap to attention
And pay their respects,
laid wreaths to mates
gone before.

Closing up ranks
as roll call numbers decrease
as deceased names appear
on the wall.

In memory of soldiers who fought gamely on
and played
the best game of ’em all.

I don’t need a bugler to call me
or see names on memorial walls.
Etched in my mind eye’s the vision,
as they marched to the Sar-major’s call.
Each playing

the best game of ’em all.

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