I recall a few whose waves would be their last goodbyes
A band playing “Now is the hour” so very loud
Fading coastline, a silent band, and gone the cheering crowds
A bonded band of warriors, clad in jungle green thread
Ready to fight in a forgotten war with little news seen or said
Albeit a minor war, the same doubts, fear, blood, sweat and tears
Seeking a determined foe, still elusive after many long years
Drenched with sweat or rain in torn rags, as a week before
Sleeping on muddy rocky beds with scorpions and leaches galore
Fitful dreams, then a whispered awakening for duty as sentry
Listening for danger in blackness where sharp eyes couldn’t see
So many weary patrols, bent with spine breaking packs, heavy with load
Entangled with thorn and foliage, seeking a small track, to greet as a road
Relying on instinct and skills to defeat the unknown, perhaps feet away
Where at short range, to kill or be killed, became an instant deadly fray
An ambush sprung, wounded and dead hidden by darkness of night
Or when bumping an enemy camp; will the occupants flee or fight?
Visit Kamunting Road, and find some fallen, in a Christian cemetery
Imagine their dreams of yesterday that will never come to be
Returning to a happy family home in the Great Southern Land?
Or laughter and singing at a campfire near booming surf and golden sands?
And when dusk reaches out, and growing shadows signal it’s time to go
Pause to hear faint echoes of past volleys of rifle fire saluting each hero
George Mansford © August 2021
