Boots on Hostile Sands

Out in the wild, where shadows creep, under a moon that's cold and

deep. Australian boots, seasoned and worn, taking steps on sands of scorn.

Government's call, a harsh demand, sent him to that foreign land. SAS's shadow,

silent and bold, a heart of fire, a spirit untold. Where angels fear

to tread, he stood, facing storms with a brother's hood. A hero's flame

the nation craves, while the doubters gnash and rave. Those that accused him fell from

grace, dirty hands in a dirty place. With every shot he kept untamed,

a warrior's mind he never blamed. In the heat of war's cruel game,