On the beaches of Gallipoli, <br />in the Straits of the Dardenelles. <br />The cliffs hung like tattered scenery, <br />on a circus carousel. <br />The men rode their rocking ferries, <br />to a dark and hostile shore; <br />from the heights the fire was raking, <br />'cause that's the luck of war. <br /> <br />A man walked with his donkey, <br />across those alleys of fear. <br />A man walked with his donkey, <br />with his burden so dear. <br />A man walked with his donkey, <br />through the deadly leaden hail; <br />a man walking with his donkey, <br />surely would not fail. <br /> <br />A man walked with his donkey, <br />but it was no idle stroll. <br />Not a picnic or fairground fancy, <br />but a pit of tortured souls. <br />A man walked with his donkey, <br />with his donkey, beside; <br />a man walking with his donkey: <br />so his fallen mates could ride. <br /> <br />A man leant, (he was weary) , <br />on his donkey to stand. <br />Exhausted with the furies, <br />on the grey sea and sand. <br />Such a time spent so easy, <br />can be a wonder to arrive; <br />for a man talking to his donkey, <br />it was good to be alive. <br /> <br />A man walked with his donkey, <br />with his donkey in tow. <br />A man walked through shooting galleries, <br />in this valley of woe. <br />A man walked with his donkey, <br />with a sure foot and pace; <br />a man walking with his donkey, <br />bravely saved his mates. <br /> <br />On the beaches of Gallipoli, <br />in the Straits of the Dardenelles. <br />A man led his stoic donkey, <br />through blast and bursting shell. <br />Like the heroes of the ancients, <br />there are still bards to tell: <br />how Simpson and his donkey, <br />made it a little less like hell.<br /><br />David SmithWhite<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/simpson-and-his-donkey/
