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ƹϵεapp Boarding students and staff at the ANZAC Day Dawn Service, ANZAC Park, The Strand.

There Was a Year Once

By Anneliese Stillwell – Year 8

There was a year once,  
And is a year still, 
When the sun’s light ceased to shine, 
And left a place that nothing could a-fill.  

There was a year once, 
And is a year still, 
When the hearts of mothers and daughters a-wept, 
For places a-lost that could never be filled.  

Many a hero fell unpraised, 
Many a father would never be raised.  
Many a champion would go enclaved, 
Silenced once and forever by a poppy-red grave.  

The world bled that year, 
It bled and bleads still.  
Weather it was open wounds on battle fields, 
Or hearts that didn’t cease to spill.  

Many a brave soul was called home, 
Many a soldier left their body of bones.  
For fathers, sons, husbands and friends, 
The world would cry out, and cry it does still.  

There was a year once, 
And is a year still, 
When the hearts of mothers and daughters a-wept, 
For places a-lost that could never be filled. 

Many a hero fell unpraised, 
Many a father would never be raised.  
Many a champion would go enclaved, 
Silenced once and forever by a poppy-red grave. 

In the morning, they rose a-ready, 
Many a sleepless night they marched on a-weary. 
With endurance they fought on, 
And in courage they faced the fields they would fall upon.  

From the playing of the bugle,  
To the fall of restless heads upon pillows, 
Our brave men fought on and on, 
Even in the midst of the gathering billows.  

The hearts of their loved ones raged another battle.  
 One of doubt, and pain, and – oh- endless heartbreak.  
Theirs was a battle that made many a steady breath a-rattle, 
Caught on emotions of which suppression was the not the only sprattle.  

There was a year once, 
And is a year still, 
When the hearts of mothers and daughters a-wept, 
For places a-lost that could never be filled. 

Many a hero fell unpraised, 
Many a father would never be raised.  
Many a champion would go enclaved, 
Silenced once and forever by a poppy-red grave. 

And so now, on this day, almost a century a-since, 
We will pause, we will recall, we will honour many-a prince 
For they didn’t need a title, nor royal descent, 
To be the greatest men and soldiers that this world will ever a-let.

 

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