Miles Dawn

On Anzac Day I headed home To Miles on The Darling Downs, A little place that’s much the same As other country towns. The Great War took its share of men From farms and dusty roads, And others marched in later years To carry Australia’s load. And the Last Post calls at the break of day, In the cool before the dawn. We stand for those who never came home, Who never saw another Miles dawn. Not many young diggers marching now, But still we hold the line— We honour all who served before In every place and time. And the Last Post calls at the break of day, In the cool before the dawn. We stand for those who never came home, Who never saw another Miles dawn. The Dawn Service finished, we turned for home, The roadway stretching wide. A Gunfire Breakfast fed the crowd, But I stepped off aside. At half‑past ten the school and vets Formed up beside the park. A Sergeant‑Major marched us out With orders crisp and stark. No brass band kept our marching time— Just a kettle drum that strayed, A wandering beat that led us on In the Miles Anzac Day parade. His orders echoed off the shops, Some folks could not make sense— But every old digger in the line Still snapped to his defence. Again the Ode, again the Post, Again the silent stand. Our Warrant Officer spoke with pride Of service in this land. The wreaths were laid in quiet rows By townsfolk one by one, Honouring the local names Whose duty had been done. And the Last Post calls at the break of day… For the ones who still march on. We honour those who never came home, Who never saw another Miles dawn.