Loitering in a country town, 'cos I had some time to spare
I went into an antique shop, to see what was there.
Bikes and pumps, and kero lamps, the old shop had it all,
then I was taken prisoner, by the Anzac on the wall.
Such an honest open face, a young man in his prime,
and when I looked at the photograph, his eyes locked onto mine.
A face so proud and confident, inside a wooden frame,
I felt myself drawn to him, in a way I can't explain.
"That Anzac have a name?" I asked, the old bloke didn't know.
He said, "Those who could have told me passed on long ago."
Anyway the old bloke kept on talking, and according to his tale,
the photo was unwanted junk, bought at a clearance sale.
"I asked around" the old man said, "But no one knew his face",
he's been up on that wall for years, deserves a better place,
someone must have loved him, it seems a shame somehow."
I nodded, and said quietly, "Oh well I'll take him now."
So you come home with me mate - too long you'd be alone,
I don't even know your name mate, but you're welcome in my home.
Did you fight at Flanders? Or perhaps Gallipoli?
I'll never know the answer, but I know you fought for me.
I wonder where they sent you mate, when you answered the call,
Were you killed in action, did you have a home at all?
You must have had a family - will you be claimed one day?
To be honest mate, I hope not, cause I'm proud to have you stay.
Sometimes visitors look at you, and then they question me,
And I tell a small white lie, and claim you're family.
They say, "You must be proud of him", I tell them one and all -
that's why you got pride of place mate - the Anzac on the wall!
