The Fall Of The Foes

• George Elia, Grade 6
• Poetry
• 2015

The Fall of the Foes, by George Elia


On the bitter bleak witching hour, us men halt.
Midnight hush suggests the end, first wave are goners, seconds maybe.
Many are clutching pictures of loved ones with all their might.
The piercing silence increases anxiety.
Soldiers cleats linger through the barge.
Generals busily producing hand signals totalling the amount of units for deployment.
Off the troops go.
Restless rowers fall short of spanning the Peninsula.
Heavy gunning from the Turks sprays down on the ANZACS.
On they press in endless stream.
Comrades fall but still they fire.
One by one the courageous lie low.
Plenty boast about the fall of the foes as the gunning continues to flow.
Here at Gallipoli where thousands rest the more we remember the less we forget.