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.
Twenty 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.