TO SARI BAIR
Did Ari Burnu, Sari Bair,
With lips of hot desire,
And clutch your skirts in wild despair
At your disdainful ire?
Oh, Sari Bair, with frowning brow
And flinty breasts of stone—
Fierce Anzac breathes a fiery vow,
Thou art for him alone.
To drive your Abdul from his lairs,
He comes in proud array;
And loud he swears, and when he swears
The Turkish hosts give way.
Dear goddess, wise in ancient lore,
Let Abdul curse the Hun;
The waning Crescent fades before
Australia’s Rising Sun.
But cheer up, poor old Sari Bair,
And smile ’midst battle smoke,
For Anzac, wild of eye and hair,
Is quite a decent bloke.
“Ben Telbow,”
10th Aust. Battalion.
