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The ships at anchor, waiting to unload
Their troops, intended for the distant heights
Behind you, where the Turks are ready for them,
Have such a peaceful look that you would think
That all this was an exercise, a game
Of war, to be remembered afterwards
Over a round of drinks down at the pub
Back home with laughter ("That one was a balls-up!"),
And not with silence at the cenotaph,
A minute's silence, every Anzac Day.
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