Gallipoli Was Gallipoli

Young boys, barely men, crawl in blood-soaked mud
Leaping out of their trenches to
The brutal banging of gunfire,
Meeting Death and his old friend Sorrow.
Gallipoli was Gallipoli.

I still remember the constant fear,
Still scream for mates long since dead.
Death’s sickening stench still fills my nostrils.
Nothing could compare to Suvla bay, where
Gallipoli was Gallipoli.

Johnny was the best of us,
Pelting his enemies with tokens of death.
If you could have seen Johnny fight,
Brave Johnny Turk, you would see why
Gallipoli was Gallipoli.

I lie here now aged 103,
The last of the Anzac legacy.
So tired by the memories,
The memories that die with me.
The burden of Gallipoli is mine.

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