THE ANZAC ON THE WALL
(Shorter Original Version)

I was wandering in a country town cos I had time to spare;
So I went into an antique shop to see what was in there.
Bikes and pumps and kero lamps, but nearly hidden by it all,
A photo of a soldier an Anzac on the Wall.

Such an honest open face, a young man in your prime,
And it seemed that when I looked at you, your eyes locked onto mine.
An image proud and confident inside a wooden frame,
I felt myself drawn to you in a way I cant explain.

Does the Anzac have a name? I asked. The old man answered No,
The ones who could have told me mate have passed on long ago.
The old man kept on talking and, according to his tale,
The photo was unwanted junk from a clearance sale.

I asked around, the old man said, but no one knows his face,
Hes been on that wall for years, he deserves a better place.
Some one must have loved him, it seems a shame somehow.
I nodded and said quietly, and said Ill take him now.

So you came home with me mate too long youve been alone
I dont even know your name mate, but youre welcome in my home.
Did you fight at Flanders, or perhaps Gallipoli?
Ill never know the answer, but I know you fought for me.

I wonder where they sent you, when you answered the call;
Were you killed in action. Did you come home at all?
You must have had a family will you be claimed one day?
To be honest, I hope not mate cos I want you to stay.

People come to my house, and they question me
And I tell them a white lie, and say youre family.
They say, You must be proud of him. I tell them, one and all,
That thats why youve got pride of place my Anzac on the Wall.

©Copyright circa 2005 by Jim Brown