Long Tan

Stand and see
these
the thinning ranks.
Forty marching years -
when did we
have time to grow
so old?

Stand and see
these
the thinning ranks.
A hundred meters
across the sward,
colours trooping proud,
the shrinking battalions march
towards the shrine
of our remembering.

Stand and see
these
the thinning ranks.
Ageing wives and friends and
adult children
with youngsters of their own
to cling and watch,
as you honour our names
etched in bronze –
forever young.

Stand and see
these
the thinning ranks.
Expatriates,
beribboned with Westmoreland’s tinsel,
under their star encrusted banner
stand and watch as
real heroes pass.

Stand and see
these
the thinning ranks.
Placing wreathes in honour
of honoured dead.

In my heart softly
I hear a protest tune
echo down the long years –
“Sagst mir wo die blomen sind?”
by James Gagiikwe © 2006