As long as time shall last We need no costly monument To keep their memory fast. On far Gallipoli. They told us in the early afternoon, We sit and wait the coming of the sun, We sit in groups - grey groups that watch the moon. We stretch our legs and murmur half in sleep, And touch the tips of bayonets and yawn. Our hands are cold, They strangely grope and creep, Tugging at ends of straps.
Some men come stumbling past in single file, And scrape the trench's side and scatter sand.
They trip and curse and go. Perhaps we smile. A gentle rustling runs along the line. A hundred eyes are staring for the sign. The old man burned his letters.