ANZAC Poem

It’s 4a.m and the dawn’s yet to come
As I’m urged from my bed by my whispering Mum
“Shh!!! Don’t wake the baby. Dad’s waiting, you know”
I dress very quickly and am ready to go
We set out, Dad and I, at a steady pace
I clutch his hand, as tears start down his face.
He talks as we walk and he quietly reminisces
About the war days and friends that he still misses

We reach the Dawn Service place – a central Town park
With a few old swings and a cenotaph
A makeshift cross silhouettes against the morning sky
And make my eyes open in wonder at the bugle’s plaintive cry.
A Priest talks about the fallen, and those who went to meet the foe
And my ten-year-old heart thought “What excitement for those who got to go!”
Soon it’s over, the sun comes up, my Dad seems lost in the past
I hug him a little awkwardly and go to play on the grass.

Eventually we wonder off… My Dad to drinks at the R.S.L.
I run home to dress in my Junior Red Cross clothes,
I’m in the Kallangur Parade as well.
Forty years have passed since those Dawn Services with my Dad;
Fifty years since the war’s end made our parents glad.
I have raised my family in peace, order and freedom
And I’m thankful for Dad and other like him
Who sacrificed youth and health and lives too

To give today’s freedom to me and to you!

“The Dawn Service”
A poem by June Hopkins, Pine Rivers poet.

Peter 0418 774 663
peter@petercampbellrealty.com