So many Australian visit Gallipoli on 25 April each year. Its the official day of remembrance and recognition. There's speeches, the laying of wreaths and The Last Post.
We had no such fanfare.
There was a leaden sky; a cool wind carried voices. The beaches were deserted; so was Anzac Cove. Lone Pine was truly alone. I wanted to be on my own, with my own personal thoughts and connections.
There’s a lonely stretch of hillocks:
There’s a beach asleep and drear:
There’s a battered broken fort beside the sea.
There are sunken trampled graves:
And a little rotting pier:
And winding paths that wind unceasingly.
There’s a torn and silent valley:
There’s a tiny rivulet
With some blood upon the stones beside its mouth.
There are lines of buried bones:
There’s an unpaid waiting debt :
There’s a sound of gentle sobbing in the South.
There’s a beach asleep and drear:
There’s a battered broken fort beside the sea.
There are sunken trampled graves:
And a little rotting pier:
And winding paths that wind unceasingly.
There’s a torn and silent valley:
There’s a tiny rivulet
With some blood upon the stones beside its mouth.
There are lines of buried bones:
There’s an unpaid waiting debt :
There’s a sound of gentle sobbing in the South.
Leon Gellert 1892-1977
No comments:
Post a Comment