Remembering Beauty

spitfire_poppy_fields_by_stephenjohnsmith-d8vyicj

I  hear  the  alarm,
Howling  around  the  hangar.
As  I  rush  for  my  gear,
It  ignites  my  anger.

My  baby  she  waits,
With  wounds  to  tell,
Of  a  sortie  with  victories,
Painted  on  her  tail.

I  sit  in  her  cockpit,
Roaring  to  go.
We  take  to  the  sky,
And  give  them  their  show.

Their  fighters  are  fast,
But  my  spitfire  is  cunning.
Along  with  my  wingmen,
We’ll  just  keep  on  hunting.

The  night  raids  continue,
Orange  blasts  fill  the  sky.
As  debris  hits  the  ground,
Another  shall  die.

My  baby  she  flies,
With  more  stories  of  horror.
A  congratulations  of  triumphs,
She’ll  be  branded  a  warrior.

I  keep  losing  my  friends,
In  the  war  that  rages  on.
We  fight  for  our  country,
We  protect  the  dawn.

There’s  an  emptiness  inside,
As  I  fly  over  Dover.
I’ve  been  shot  to  the  torso,
I’m  bleeding  all  over.

I  take  in  the  scene,
Of  the  red  rising  sun,
Kiss  my  baby  goodbye,
It’s  my  time.  I’m  done.

I  fought  for  Great  Britain,
To  honour  my  duty.
I’ve  run  out  of  chances,
To  tuck  in  this  Beauty.

I  shan’t  be  alone,
My  lost  brothers  will  find  me.
They’ll  bring  whiskey  and  laughter,
For  death  has  no  enemy.

I’ll  salute  no  regrets,
And  bid  the  world  adieu.
Herein  please  remember,
What  I  sacrificed  for  you.

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