The crescent moon had a silvery glow
lowly set on the dark shielded horizon
upon the clouded patch of glowy stars
towards the vast fields where cattle gaze
each with a light on pitch-black alleyways
following the muddy patterned paths
in the countryside of Burstall, we hustle
rumbling in hay sheds, beside the puddle
where torrential rains settled in a wrestle

It's been a 100 years since the war erupted
trenches charged with championed fears
cannons eroded with plentiful hopeful tears
The vicar of Burstall collared and robed
in front of masses with declarations of peace
lease of the acquisition, long-live the empire
denoted by the pitched but fading trumpet
off -keyed to the shrine of the beaconing light
where a chair is set fire-up high, in a glorious chant......

"Anna, stop giggling...we shall remember them Anna"