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ANZAC COVE There's a long strecth of hillocks There's beach asleep and dream There's battered broken fort beside the sea There are sunken trampled graves There's a little rotting pier And winding paths that wind unceasingly There a torn silent valley There's a tiny rivulet With some blood upon the stones beside its mourn There are lines of buried bones There's an unpaid waiting debt There's a sound of gentle sobbing in the south. Leon Gellert |