They were sentenced to toil on foreign soil; to leave their homes for the Empire. They were told to wallow in the mire; too young to understand the state of Things: they were driven by the fire of pride, love, and mateship. Forced to age past their true physical years; to see young blood drip from young knees, tears drip down old, pure dreams of their homes allowing glee in the dances of their own.
Let not that true, free fire slip from our souls. Let not their true eyes leave our own. Let not their voices leave our own. Let not their breath leave our safe lungs. Let not their calloused hands part with our own.
Sentenced to toil on a foreign soil: let not their memory melt away into dust and cold rain; For they are ours, and, by God, let not the wild and rampant passing of time dissolve them in waters foreign to our own.
"They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old; Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning We will remember them.” - Laurence Binyon
Today was ANZAC Day, a day where we commemorate the great sacrifice of the many servicemen and women who tirelessly give their lives to serve our country. In particular, we remember the courage of those who fought in the landings at Gallipoli, a ****** conflict that saw the death of many of our young.