One hundred years have passed since this harbour, So quiet today, but then primed for war; Soldiers, Officers, horses and supplies, Separated from all they knew of home, Squashed into the ships of war time convoy, Black smoke billowing, ready to set sail. These men of conflict, known now as ANZACS, Thirty thousand, sailed into the unknown. Letters were sent back home from the trenches, But alas, the flowing line of ink, paper, Was replaced with the horror of blood, sand, Long before mail ever reached Mum, home. The agony of war! Hearts torn apart, Men mangled beyond all recognition, Some died but no one held their quivering hand, Others gone, but no one knows where or wh
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