They come once more to Singapore,
To deter those who would wage war.
The locals see their garb and guns
Have little changed — these are the sons
Perhaps of those who were brought low;
But that was thirty years ago.
The Aussies, Kiwis, British boys,
Their distant Queen once more deploys,
As she plans to give up her best —
Retreat in order to the West.
Now fifty years have passed and most
Have left — have given up the ghost.
Their shoulder flashes slowly fade —
Like memories of their brigade.
— D.N. O’Brien