An Ode To Our Truck

An Ode To Our Mog

In the shadows of Darwin, I rumbled and rolled,
An '83 Mog, so tough and so bold,
My camouflage coat, once fresh and bright,
Now faded and weary from dust and the fight.

I bore the heat of the Northern sun,
Carried our troops until the job was done,
With dust caught beneath seals and rubbers,
I kept silent witness to soldiers and their druthers.

Countless troops, I ferried, steadfast and true,
In heat and in rain, through jungle and dew,
Their laughter and tears, their hopes and their fears,
Echoed within me, as the days turned to years.

From hauling cargo to clearing a path,
I stood tall and strong, a partner in wrath,
Yet now my days of war have gone,
And I find solace in the morning's new dawn.

In my twilight years, I live a new life,
With a couple of wanderers, husband and wife,
Two fifty-somethings who seek out adventure,
I carry them both, for they've become my pleasure.

No longer do I bear the burden of war,
Instead, I explore the Outback once more,
From dusty trails to hidden lakes,
Together, we share the memories it takes.

Though my paint is worn, my spirit remains,
A whisper of Anzac in these far-flung terrains,
In retirement, I serve as a guardian strong,
For these travellers who now call me their own.

So let me rest now, in the arms of the earth,
A seasoned old soldier, of sturdy worth,
For my heart beats on in the Outback vast,
A living relic of the battle's past.