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Marching together, instep, one by one,
heeding our country's call of duty.
Sixteen of us following the beaten trail,
one traveled by many of our band of brothers.
Three divisions of us are already there,
feeling, seeing, the horror of the front line.
Not sure of the rest of the boys right here,
but I have never seen with my eyes,
the chaos that exists on the front line.
All being seen right now,
are the bodies being brought back,
mangled, bloodied, pieces of our countrymen.
They say two out of three of us boys,
will never make it back home.
I think, on this walk, of my parents.
I am their second boy here,
and the only one that is alive.
Thankfully the youngest is too young,
as I know I maybe another one,
who does not make it. 

Our country, Australia, has been part of this,
since the British Empire declared war,
serving the world from a relentless barrage.
After over three years, there are finally chinks,
we are hearing whispers that the front is weaker,
Have been told not to look into our enemies eyes,
so we do not see their fear,
and so they do not see ours.
This is suppose to make the mission earlier,
to take the lives of boys following orders,
to conquer and take what is ours.

Broodseinde is getting closer,
you can feel the bullets and the screams.
My body is starting to quiver,
has to stop and get ready.
The rain hitting us does not make it easier,
it is so wet and cold.
Corpses we are marching by,
are getting covered with rotten debris.
My eyes are just trying to look forward,
not pay attention to lifeless countrymen,
so I can march out of Broodseinde tomorrow. 

June 11, 2011
© Andrew Scott – Just a Maritime Boy 2011

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