Marching At The Front© Dudley C. Pye AM JP
I was there on Anzac Day,
Medals bright and buffed,
Noticed who was missing,
And who was running rough.
Shook the time worn wrinkled hands,
Replied to all the smiles,
Some were just like strangers,
Hadn't seen them for a while.
I pondered how their life's been spent,
Perhaps that's a little strange,
Have they all been well and happy?
Since the "Two way rifle range"!
Cracked a can and watched the Swy,
Even had a little punt,
The sound of far off bagpipes,
Meant there's movement at the front.
They are the second war Diggers,
About eighty years and on,
They now replace the ANZACS,
Close to near all gone.
Their ranks are also thinning,
Moist eyed and hair that's sparse,
Took over from the Anzacs,
And kicked their share of arse.
Those of us that followed them,
To hell holes like Korea,
Hope we'll be remembered,
Like those of yesteryear!
When all those heroes leave us,
And my legs have lost their grunt,
I'll be proud, just like them,
When I'm marching at the front.