Pale yellow dawn opening day
Young man passing front gate
Brass buttons shine, face so gay
Mustn't be late for my fate
Mother stirs and hears her son
Tears shine on cheeks so sad
She knows his life may not be won
Loves this boy just like his dad
Khaki uniform, brass buttons shine
Heavy boots clatter, marching slow
Lost his dad in Palestine
Must make haste; for dad you know
Training with wooden guns
Four-bob a week his pay
Aussie youngsters, Aussie sons
Spirited youth to fight each day
Glitter and glamour of fighting near
Soon turns sour in mud and blood
Bum-fluff soldier, child in fear
Fetal position, trench mud
Foreign bullet found his breast
Mushroom cloud of bloody fear
Bum-fluff soldier lay at rest
His spirit standing beside mother dear
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Author Notes
Contest entry for rhyming poem: Our young men were offered four-bob a week (roughly 40 Cents way back in the 1940's) a free uniform and bully-beef meals (like tinned spam.) Conditions were dreadful for the young men. Scared witless and mowed down by the Germans. Bum-fluff means he hasn't yet shaved his face. My dad was 23 when he went to New Guinea to fight the Japanese, he never spoke of it.
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