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The 35th Battalion
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- The hush that comes with twilight's peace, steals o'er the valley's breast,
- The mystic shades are softer now, on Je Jehari's crest,
- With twisted trunks like tortured ghosts, the grey niaoulis stand,
- Amidst the pale lantana tufts, that crouch on either hand.
- The hush that comes with twilight's peace, steals o'er the valley's breast,
- When after day's long-suffered hour, the sun 'Scourged land see\s rest,
- And tremolo cicada song is trilling to the night,
- E'er playful comes the will o-wisp with wayward dancing light.
- Then suddenly, like thunder, rolls the bolder beat of drums,
- Arresting all, and dominant, the great crescendo comes,
- And as the rain precedes the storm, with measured noble beat,
- As once they skirled 'mid Scotland's hills, the bagpipes sound retreat.
- 'Tis mem'ry's hour, and we recall those silent men who lie,
- Up where the teeming jungles rot, beneath a tortured sky;
- No words of ours can voice our thoughts; our tongues are stricken dumb,
- They speak for us, and weep for us, the bagpipe and the drum.
—Alasdair.