The followingare appropriate poems for Anzac Day tomorrow.
Just a Common Soldier
He was getting old and paunchy
And his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the RSL,
Telling stories of the past.
Of a war that he once fought in
And the deeds that he had done,
In his exploits with his buddies;
They were heroes, every one.
And 'tho sometimes to his neighbors
His tales became a joke,
All his mates listened quietly
For they knew where of he spoke.
But we'll hear his tales no longer,
For ol' Bob has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer
For a Soldier died today.
He won't be mourned by many,
Just his children and his wife.
For he lived an ordinary,
Very quiet sort of life.
He held a job and raised a family,
Going quietly on his way;
And the world won't note his passing,
'Tho a Soldier died today.
When politicians leave this earth,
Their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing,
And proclaim that they were great.
Papers tell of their life stories
From the time that they were young
But the passing of a Soldier
Goes unnoticed, and unsung.
Is the greatest contribution
To the welfare of our land,
Some jerk who breaks his promise
And cons his fellow man?
Or the ordinary fellow
Who in times of war and strife,
Goes off to serve his country
And offers up his life?
The politician's stipend
And the style in which he lives,
Are often disproportionate,
To the service that he gives.
While the ordinary Soldier,
Who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal
And perhaps a pension, small.
It's so easy to forget them,
For it is so many times
That our Bobs and Jims and Johnnys,
Went to battle, but we know,
It is not the politicians
With their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom
That our country now enjoys.
Should you find yourself in danger,
With your enemies at hand,
Would you really want some cop-out,
With his ever waffling stand?
Or would you want a Soldier--
His home, his country, his kin,
Just a common Soldier,
Who would fight until the end.
He was just a common Soldier,
And his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us
We may need his like again.
For when countries are in conflict,
We find the Soldier's part
Is to clean up all the troubles
That the politicians start.
If we cannot do him honor
While he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least let's give him homage
At the ending of his days..
Perhaps just a simple headline
In the paper that might say:
"OUR COUNTRY IS IN MOURNING,
A SOLDIER DIED TODAY."
A veteran is someone who, at one point in his life, wrote a blank cheque made payable to ' Australia ', ' New Zealand ', or any other God fearing country for an amount "up to and including my life".
That is Honour, and there are way too many people in this WORLD who no longer understand it.
And his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the RSL,
Telling stories of the past.
Of a war that he once fought in
And the deeds that he had done,
In his exploits with his buddies;
They were heroes, every one.
And 'tho sometimes to his neighbors
His tales became a joke,
All his mates listened quietly
For they knew where of he spoke.
But we'll hear his tales no longer,
For ol' Bob has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer
For a Soldier died today.
He won't be mourned by many,
Just his children and his wife.
For he lived an ordinary,
Very quiet sort of life.
He held a job and raised a family,
Going quietly on his way;
And the world won't note his passing,
'Tho a Soldier died today.
When politicians leave this earth,
Their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing,
And proclaim that they were great.
Papers tell of their life stories
From the time that they were young
But the passing of a Soldier
Goes unnoticed, and unsung.
Is the greatest contribution
To the welfare of our land,
Some jerk who breaks his promise
And cons his fellow man?
Or the ordinary fellow
Who in times of war and strife,
Goes off to serve his country
And offers up his life?
The politician's stipend
And the style in which he lives,
Are often disproportionate,
To the service that he gives.
While the ordinary Soldier,
Who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal
And perhaps a pension, small.
It's so easy to forget them,
For it is so many times
That our Bobs and Jims and Johnnys,
Went to battle, but we know,
It is not the politicians
With their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom
That our country now enjoys.
Should you find yourself in danger,
With your enemies at hand,
Would you really want some cop-out,
With his ever waffling stand?
Or would you want a Soldier--
His home, his country, his kin,
Just a common Soldier,
Who would fight until the end.
He was just a common Soldier,
And his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us
We may need his like again.
For when countries are in conflict,
We find the Soldier's part
Is to clean up all the troubles
That the politicians start.
If we cannot do him honor
While he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least let's give him homage
At the ending of his days..
Perhaps just a simple headline
In the paper that might say:
"OUR COUNTRY IS IN MOURNING,
A SOLDIER DIED TODAY."
A veteran is someone who, at one point in his life, wrote a blank cheque made payable to ' Australia ', ' New Zealand ', or any other God fearing country for an amount "up to and including my life".
That is Honour, and there are way too many people in this WORLD who no longer understand it.
I Saw the Soldiers Marching
I saw the soldiers marching, one drear November day,
Those heroes bold, from wars of old, in countries far away.
I heard the drums like thunder, the sound of marching feet,
As men of ancient valor marched down our little street.
I heard the skirl of bagpipes, the blare of brasses bold,
As heroes from another time relived the days of old.
The old, the frail, the lame, the slow, they marched with solemn pace,
To honor comrades fallen at another time and place.
I felt the tightness in my throat, the tears that burned my eyes,
As I watched the quiet dignity of old men marching by.
The fine young men, and women too, in battles long ago,
Who gave their youth and some, their lives,to fight our country’s foe.
On this day will be remembered by comrades who remain,
And by the heavens, weeping, with softly falling rain.
The medals softly jingling on every passing chest,
In memory of companions who’ve long been laid to rest.
There are some unfit, and some who sit, in wheelchairs, row on row,
While they recall what price was paid to turn our country’s foe.
And some will stand with tear-dimmed eyes, and some with faces grim,
While all repeat the solemn vow,
"WE WILL REMEMBER THEM."
I saw the soldiers marching, one drear November day,
Those heroes bold, from wars of old, in countries far away.
I heard the drums like thunder, the sound of marching feet,
As men of ancient valor marched down our little street.
I heard the skirl of bagpipes, the blare of brasses bold,
As heroes from another time relived the days of old.
The old, the frail, the lame, the slow, they marched with solemn pace,
To honor comrades fallen at another time and place.
I felt the tightness in my throat, the tears that burned my eyes,
As I watched the quiet dignity of old men marching by.
The fine young men, and women too, in battles long ago,
Who gave their youth and some, their lives,to fight our country’s foe.
On this day will be remembered by comrades who remain,
And by the heavens, weeping, with softly falling rain.
The medals softly jingling on every passing chest,
In memory of companions who’ve long been laid to rest.
There are some unfit, and some who sit, in wheelchairs, row on row,
While they recall what price was paid to turn our country’s foe.
And some will stand with tear-dimmed eyes, and some with faces grim,
While all repeat the solemn vow,
"WE WILL REMEMBER THEM."
Pass on the Patriotism!
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