As far as the eye can see, empty turquoise, peacefulness,
In the loveliest burial ground in the world
For the thousands of ghosts of lost boys
Who were sent here to die.
Stones pierce the green like rows of shark’s teeth
Stones that name Anzacs in their teens and twenties
Few old enough to be dads, all young enough to be sons.
Antipodean voices whisper as they search
Emotion choked as names are uncovered
And Rosemary battles for remembrance
Against the fennel scorched air.