Anzacs

Gone on the winds of gripping ice those clapping boots on stone March bravely in the hands of night to a place far far from home Where night awakes 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 desperate pleas get swallowed neath their blood Of long forgotten Anzacs only winds dare to foretell Of the nameless soldiers falling with the cries of how they fell.