Louis was my dearest friend
Fighting in the anzac trench.
Louis ran forward from the line,
And i never saw him again.

Later in the dark
I thought i heard louis’ voice
Calling for his mother, then me,
But i couldn’t get to him.

He’s still up on that hill.
20 years on that hill.
Nothing more than a pile of bones,
But i think of him still.

If i was asked i’d tell
The colour of the earth that day;
It was dull, and browny-red,
“the colour of blood” i’d say