How the bugle's call of sad notes stirs hearts and minds apace —
A sombre song of greeting for a new dawn's questing face!
Nudging gently, but plainly, come reminders quite sublime —
Embers of fiery days, and echoes from the vaults of time.

While sifting inmost feelings that we seldom choose to show,
What is our purpose in recalling days of long ago —
Yearning for our "roaring days", as again their depths we plumb?
No, now's time to hone reflections and heed a muffled drum,
To grieve mates who then died, and bitter things that we had seen —
While nursing grateful notions of how lucky we had been.

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From pockets of the mem'ry we muster a dreamlike past,
Of well-remembered settings where the fates of mates were cast,
'Mid misty, poignant shadows — sights and sounds of bygone throngs —
We glimpse young slender faces and hear soft their timeless songs.

These familiar wraiths remind us of things that we had done,
In some days when life was tough - and yet others that were fun.
Tales of teamwork, told by players well-suited to War's game,
In calm or fiercest language — sharp bequests of ANZAC fame!
Staunch soldiers' yarns, into which the musing mind deeply delves,
Tracing paths where once we trod — and learned much about ourselves.

**********

Fighting men who donned our Regiment's famous badge of brass —
Joining then a brotherhood who make up a special class —
Justly proud, we're also humble — our mentors went before,
Others stepped up behind us and to come are countless more.

Being men of ingrained values that have stood the tests of time,
We still practice them today — as we did when in our prime,
For they boost and stir us onward when things seem at their worst,
That clear buzz of comfort — an inner call of "Duty First!",
Reminds that much still is owed, by old men now "on the shelf ",
To Country, Family, Comrades and, not least, to one's own self.