The Old Digger
The old digger walks the streets,
Written by Les Heath
Looking for familiar faces and places,
From time's gone by.
Later you will find him sitting in the old cafe,
Sipping on a cold cup of coffee he got an hour before.
He sits alone his eyes quite blank,
As he remembers his long lost comrades.
The year goes by and then,
That special day arrives.
The old digger arises with bright eyes,
And excitement in his face.
Out from the wardrobe he takes,
His uniform neatly pressed,
His boots that shine.
He dons them and with medals,
Won for valor upon his chest,
He joins the march to remember,
And to honor his friends that fell.
With pride he marches down those streets on Anzac Day.
Recalling fond friends and how they died in his arms.
In a war that was nothing but hell.
bowler@lightstorm.com.au
Copyright 1999 Les Heath