Australia, Can You Answer?

I've walked a mile or two in my boots.
Worn blisters so deep I swore they had roots.
Carried packs so loaded my shoulders did ache.
Five paces more, my body would break.

Did you think of me then, as I marched furthermore?
Would you care if I told you, my body was sore?
Could you hear me when, I whispered your name?
Did your thoughts of me cease, when I boarded the plane?

Could you have walked, the same mile in my boots?
Marched furthermore, 'till your thoughts became moot?
Carried pack by day, fought through the night?
Visions so bleak, no sign of the light?

I'm back and enjoying, autumn's embrace,
When I see just how, it's all such a waste!
My country, my nation, my people, what rot.
None of you wondered or cared, not a jot!

"Get over it" I hear, "you're a soldier no more",
"Get up, get out, as you once went to war",
"Be productive, be happy, pay your own way",
"We don't need the burden, we taxpayers say!".

"Should we foot the bill, for your fractured mind?",
"No-one forced you to go, when you could stay behind.",
"No-one forced you to march, on furthermore.",
"You look fine to me, you couldn't be sore!".

***

Had I thought way back when I marched in my boots,
That my nation, my family, my people and roots,
Would deny me my due, as I shouldered my pack,
Refused to acknowledge, my mind just may crack.

I'd have turned right around, right there in my boots,
I'd have told them to 'shove it', the ungrateful coots,
Thrown off my pack, un-shouldered my load,
Sat back at home, and watched down the road.

Laughed at you all, when the peril came near,
Laughed and poked fun, at your evident fear.
For then we would see who was ready to fight,
To march, shoulder pack, with nary a gripe.

"Be proud" is the call, on the chill April morn',
"Many thanks" go the speeches as the night turns to dawn.
The day follows night, the party goes on,
"Good onya Digger", echoes the sing-song.
Hangover cobwebs are dusted away,
Back to work Monday, proclaim "What a day!".
Do you think of the Diggers, as your chin wags,
As you brag to the fellas how your 'spin won you bags'.

I'll wager you didn't, you ungrateful dog,
You brag of the drink, "I was full of the grog!".
But I thought of you, as I stepped out that day,
As I thought of you all, when I marched in harm's way.

We exist past that day, the cold April morn'.
We exist every day that follows each dawn.
No-one thinks of us, in life's daily tussle.
Nary a thought, as we join in the bustle.

But mention the weight of our care and our keep.
Mention the cost, just to get us to sleep.
Well then my friends, we hear such a holla’,
The whine about straining "the taxpayer's dollar"!

The veterans exists in peace, as in war,
The veterans live on, beyond your front door.
The dreams, the hopes, the goals are the same,
The nightmares, the anguish, they're alone in their pain.

You should spare a thought, as you hurry each day,
Spare a word for them when, at the alter you pray.
But I know you; a bastard, you don't give a shit.
Your only concern, how your pocket is hit!