Classic Poem

Anti-Soldier, Anti-All,
Politicians every one;
There are things they can't recall,
For they never saw them done.
There are thoughts that come about,
When the Digger's dad reflec's —
'Tis the troopship goin' out,
And the mist on Granny's spec's.

Things the smug cold-footer missed,
Just because he wouldn't see —
'Tis the Casualty List
In the old home after tea.
Dad is walkin' to and fro
In the moonlight by the shed;
Mum is sobbing soft and low,
Granny's hand is on her head.

To the wharf again they come,
From the glad homes near and far:
It is Granny, Dad, and Mum,
First time in a motor car.
Hear the Harbour traffic's din!
(Say no word to mar or vex)
'Tis the troopship comin' in,
And the light on Granny's spec's.

To the honour of the brave
Other signs shall come perchance —
'Tis the picture of the grave
Of that other son, in France.
Other Grannies shall grow old,
To the glory of their sex —
Far more lustrous than the gold
Round the rims of Granny's spec's.

Other politicians claim
Credit for the glory shed,
Who insult but cannot shame
The brave memory of our dead.
Anti-War and Anti-All,
Saving sordid Self, and Bribe —
Who in future shall recall
One great name in all their tribe?