ANZACS.

Gone on the winds of gripping ice
their clapping boots on stone.
March bravely in the hands of night
to a place far far from home.
Where night awaits with darting lights
And screeching bullets fly.
A place where breaths are stolen
From our heroes where they lie.
In fields of fading hopes and dreams
Sink deep beneath the mud.
As cries of pain and desperare please
get swallowed...

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