Wounded from Tobruk by James Andrew Tip Kelaher, 1941

You come limping down the gangplank

Or youre carried down instead,
Covered by a dusty blanket
With a boot beneath your head,
And you all look lean and hungry
Underneath that Aussie grin,
Sick of bully beef and biscuits,
But the sort that wont give in.
Perhaps youre smiled at by a bearer,
Who is muscular and big,
Fishing fags out of his pocket
With a Better have one, Dig.
And you take it as he lights it,
And return the wry old grin,
Making little of your troubles,
But theres no one taken in.