To the ones who didn’t come home
To the man who volunteered
To fight a noble war
In a country far away
He’d never heard before
He trained with vigor and gusto
And was sure he would prevail
As long as his mates were by his side
A wind would fill his sail
They said their last goodbyes
To those which they loved
And climbed inside the metal hull
With a friendly push and shove
As soon as they heard the cannons fire
Their sphincters puckered tight
But never second guessed their choice
To fight the righteous fight
This poem is written about that man
His name remains unknown
Who sits amongst his digger mates
And never drinks alone
Yet He never saw his home again
A choice he did not make
A bullet went right through him
And sealed his awful fate
His body lay in the mud
Among the heated brass
So different from the pastures
With green and fragrent grass
This poem is written to the man
Who never came back home
Forever sitting among his mates
And shall never drink alone
By Tom Liddell
FILE PHOTO: A headstone of an unknown Australian soldier. Photo by Corporal Jake Sims.
.
.
.
.
