Homework 23/11/2020 'The Last Goodbye'
Posted: Mon Nov 09, 2020 9:14 am
I wrote the first three stanza's of this poem as homework eighteen months to two years ago,
and as it fits Maureen's suggestions I have decided to try and complete it.
THE LAST GOODBYE
Now it’s faded memories we cling to at the old bush halls,
where the silent tread of long brave dead still echoes through their walls.
Gone is the dawn of our golden youth and gone are small towns too,
swept away by hopeless, wasteful war - the life that we once knew.
Never more the sounds of old bush bands will lift this pall of gloom,
though the aged oil lamps are hanging still from walls of each main room.
There what seems like long ago we danced on polished jarrah floors,
now it’s only hollow silence that awaits beyond their doors.
There are ghostly streets in countless towns where seldom footsteps pass
and the empty shops stare eerily through dust smeared panes of glass.
Sadness now hangs in the air that only time may wash away,
yet the passing years may never ease the heartache felt today.
For the world was changed forever and our way of life as well,
as the threat of war hung over us to cast its deathly spell.
Pleas to help the mother country soon rung out across the land,
with the urgent call to join the fight led by a spruiker’s band.
So the beat of drums and rousing words enticed men off to war,
and they rushed off to the larger towns to join up by the score.
With their mates they tramped the dusty streets; excitement ruled the day,
with the promise of adventure not the price that they might pay.
We had waved farewell to those young men who marched away to war,
and the tramp of feet departing then will haunt us evermore.
For the cream of youth marched with them destined for a manmade hell,
on a foreign beach or muddy field, cut down by shot and shell.
So those brave young men had sailed away to face an unknown fate,
unaware what lay ahead or of the legend they’d create.
But a dreadful price was paid - a generation near wiped out
and the brutal truth exposed to show what war is all about.
Families were torn by grief then at the news they soon would learn,
that their sons and husbands are among the men who won’t return.
Now the wives of those who gave their lives must raise their young alone,
and the silent tears of brides to be are shed now hope has flown,
And the country was left shattered all our hopes and dreams were gone,
after years of sweat and toil to build a future to pass on.
Sadness seems to haunt the streets of towns where children had once played,
and a nation reeled in shock then at the price this country paid.
Now the old bush halls stand silent as we pause to count the cost
and the small towns are deserted with so many young men lost.
Resting now in lonely graves, so far from home and all they knew
and we mourn them to this day – their loss, we will forever rue.
On the dusty streets of countless towns, old memories may fade,
never though will we forget, the sacrifice so many made.
Like a last goodbye to those brave men who sailed away to war,
monuments in every town – record the pain this country bore.
+++++++++
©T.E. Piggott
and as it fits Maureen's suggestions I have decided to try and complete it.
THE LAST GOODBYE
Now it’s faded memories we cling to at the old bush halls,
where the silent tread of long brave dead still echoes through their walls.
Gone is the dawn of our golden youth and gone are small towns too,
swept away by hopeless, wasteful war - the life that we once knew.
Never more the sounds of old bush bands will lift this pall of gloom,
though the aged oil lamps are hanging still from walls of each main room.
There what seems like long ago we danced on polished jarrah floors,
now it’s only hollow silence that awaits beyond their doors.
There are ghostly streets in countless towns where seldom footsteps pass
and the empty shops stare eerily through dust smeared panes of glass.
Sadness now hangs in the air that only time may wash away,
yet the passing years may never ease the heartache felt today.
For the world was changed forever and our way of life as well,
as the threat of war hung over us to cast its deathly spell.
Pleas to help the mother country soon rung out across the land,
with the urgent call to join the fight led by a spruiker’s band.
So the beat of drums and rousing words enticed men off to war,
and they rushed off to the larger towns to join up by the score.
With their mates they tramped the dusty streets; excitement ruled the day,
with the promise of adventure not the price that they might pay.
We had waved farewell to those young men who marched away to war,
and the tramp of feet departing then will haunt us evermore.
For the cream of youth marched with them destined for a manmade hell,
on a foreign beach or muddy field, cut down by shot and shell.
So those brave young men had sailed away to face an unknown fate,
unaware what lay ahead or of the legend they’d create.
But a dreadful price was paid - a generation near wiped out
and the brutal truth exposed to show what war is all about.
Families were torn by grief then at the news they soon would learn,
that their sons and husbands are among the men who won’t return.
Now the wives of those who gave their lives must raise their young alone,
and the silent tears of brides to be are shed now hope has flown,
And the country was left shattered all our hopes and dreams were gone,
after years of sweat and toil to build a future to pass on.
Sadness seems to haunt the streets of towns where children had once played,
and a nation reeled in shock then at the price this country paid.
Now the old bush halls stand silent as we pause to count the cost
and the small towns are deserted with so many young men lost.
Resting now in lonely graves, so far from home and all they knew
and we mourn them to this day – their loss, we will forever rue.
On the dusty streets of countless towns, old memories may fade,
never though will we forget, the sacrifice so many made.
Like a last goodbye to those brave men who sailed away to war,
monuments in every town – record the pain this country bore.
+++++++++
©T.E. Piggott