It is a cold night
on a cliff high above the beach at Gallipoli. Two souls from
the Australian and Turkish sides sit by their headstones atop a damaged
canon and sip hot tea while high above, the crescent moon and the Southern Cross (in honour of the Australian soldier) shine brightly. Their rifles; ordnance which caused their demise, are discarded in the fire. In the calm of night they reminisce about life. They may seem alone, but in fact, they are surrounded by their fallen brothers-in-arms, as each poppy is a testament to the blood spilled by a young man who will never grow old. Close by, lies a cross and a crescent, earthly symbols of man's connection to Him to whom we will return at this journey's end.