Dead Mates

Going to war on a hot summer’s day,

To battle on the shore of Gallipoli’s bay.

Battling the enemy they’re feeling fine,

When the enemy thinks they’ve crossed the line.

The enemy’s blow is like a fist of metal,

The dreaded pain like a stinging nettle.

The mates you’ve made while coming here,

When they drop like stones they fill you with fear.

The battle that followed was really bad,

The deaths that occurred were very sad.

Their graves scatter the poppy fields,

Their names engraved on golden shields.

The dreaded letter that went home,

Left parents feeling all alone.

They all said the same sad thing,

“Your son’s body we could not bring”.

As the ruined women wept and cried,

The bodies in the planes had their ride.

So that, my friends, is the story,

Of our country, Australia’s glory.

Written by Jesse, aged 11