Battalions of The Aged.

ANZAC

The toweringly stooped and the stove-chested youth

The advocate of war and the violent, the corrupted, the uncouth

The bantam little puncher and the solemn champion of Truth

The big-armed caber tosser, the sun-fried western settler

Surf Club youngsters playing the lair, town boys with too much hair

Gimping in their midst a broken faced fettler

Principled youths of great wealth and learning

Poets and writers, bums, and wet-eyed men who’s every thought was of lonesome yearning

They all marched by me today, these battalions of the aged

These decrepit platoons

These squadrons of the ravaged

Weaponless now and agedly bent, their once massive numbers lost, like money thrown into the ring

Spent

They marched by me today, their ranks so savagely rendered

Old men bathed young in the welter of conflict

In their eyes today a distance , and a depthless glint of their youth, so quickly ended

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