Wars

• Meredith Blair, Grade 7
• Poetry
• 2017

War torn land,Trenches dug deep,
Blood covered sand,No-one to hear a peep.
Severed bodies,Scattered across the terrain,
Soldiers climbing up Rockies,The land filled with blood stain.
Wounds uncovered,Bullets lodges in,
Trenches discovered,Some soldiers holding their bruised and battered skin.
Some made it home,Some died in action,
Some came back but were all alone,The ones that died were more than a fraction.
Bright red poppies,Grow up over their graves,
They spring up like photocopies,Over the eternally brave.Those poor fathers and mothers,
Who lost their sons,Their sisters and younger brothers,Who hoped their brother would be able to run.Only the men could fight,They thought women weren’t capable,But they snuck in anyway just to show them right,Showing they weren’t shakeable.Now We mourn over those,In a special way,None of their faces still glow,On the day we "celebrate" Anzac day.For those who died in action,For those who were at first a normal civilian,The blokes who served us in war
Were all true Australian