A  Letter  from  Dad


Hello Son,                         Thursday, November 15th

Sure hope this letter, somehow, reaches you;
Though there’s not much to tell, that’s really new.
Just had to write, when I got your note;
When I read all about, those things you wrote.
Awful sights you’ve seen and deeds you’ve done;
Like my ol ‘ fight, with the ‘Rising Sun’.
’Twas around that time when you were born;
Yet nothing’s changed, we’re each a pawn!
Our leaders still continue to just ignore,
Alternatives available to waging war.
Devised that lottery, you unfairly won;
A choice of gaol, or instead … a gun!
Selected the cream, of innocent ‘boys’,
As if playing a game, with chessboard ploys.
Though they themselves have nought to fear,
Whilst their own sons safe, remain back here.
And I see the ‘Libs’ are back in again!
Pathetic protests, carried out in vain!
Support gets lost, when they abuse the troops;
Or adopt agendas, set by vested groups.
One day they may stop, wake up their minds,
When the blind, at last, learn to read the signs.
TV belies those victory claims,
With scenes of homes, ablaze in flames.
And I heard your unit, the other night,
’Twas again involved, in a fierce firefight.
Way out there, beyond that wire,
Clearly the dangers, are so much higher.
So I pray you won’t take silly risks,
And keep off those ‘Killed In Action’ lists!
Only a short time left you know;
So don’t come back, a dead her-o!
Years from now, no one will even care,
Why the hell we were even there!    
Don’t have much more left, I can say, 
You know we all think of you … every single day!
Please take care of yourself … for me,
Your mum … and friends … and family!
Guess there's not much else I can add!
‘Cept ... Please come home safe son! …

                                                   ... love  from Dad.


©

A  Letter  From  Dad

     Reading letters from home was (is) the most treasured past-time for any soldier in a war zone. This poem epitomises the frustration, fears and aspirations held by any parent for their son, especially by those parents who had already experienced war first hand themselves.    

                                   “The Moving Finger writes, and having writ, moves on;                     
                                                             Nor all your piety, nor wit,
                                               Shall lure it back, to cancel half a line,
                                           Nor all your tears wash out one word of it.”
                                                                                                                                                                                           - Omar Khayyam, circa 1120.

Ron Harbourd 6Pl B Coy 5RAR - 1966