Saturday, December 1, 2007

Attack

(Inspired by the furious bombardment the the Lone
Pine position prior to the never-to-be-forgotten
Charge of the gallant Anzacs)


CRASH, Oh grey guns in your fury,
Roar while earth’s bosom lies mute,
For yea are the judge and the jury,
The voice of the nation’s dispute.

Crash and your missiles go screeming
Forth on their mission of death,
The blaze of your fire-flashes streaming
Foeward in red fashioned breath.

Speak of our steadfast reliance,
Shout in your breathing of fire
The paens of hate and defiance
And weight of our militant ire.

Crackle, O rifles, and sputter
In fire-flashing lines in the night,
Your voices in incessant mutter
The deep undertone of the fight.

Shout as your bayonets reden
And gleam in the play of the thrust,
Sing of a glory that shed in
The light of a murder-mad lust.

Crash, Oh grey guns, in your chorus,
Sputter, ye rifles, in flame,
Fling to the foe out before us
The might of the mothland’s name.

Vistory with deft subtle fingers
Weaves bay for earth’s struggling sons,
With laurel she hovers and lingers
For those of the mightiest guns.

So crash, O grey guns, in your fury,
Roar while earth’s bosom lies mute,
For ye are the judge and the jury,
The voice of the nation’ dispute

ANZAC, August 6, 1915.

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