NIGHT FLIGHT – REMEMBERING ANZAC DAY
Lord, I’m not yet twenty,
My brother only twenty-three;
if one of us must die tonight
let it not be he!
Or me.
Yet there the crescent moon
rising gold above the land
cradles the ghost of another;
one reborn, one dying
in the arms of a brother,
a sign of things to be …?
He led me by the hand
once when lost and small. I understand
the call for sons, while grieving mothers
listen to our planes climb high,
and fathers pace – and loving o…
