by | Nov 10, 2010 | Poetry | 0 comments

Twelve hour shifts in the factory
Doing day and night
Making the wings of spitfires
Getting them ready for flight.

Working on the portwing
Each rivet done with pride,
We wrote our names on metal
Which now the tread does hide.

Castle Brom’ was famous
To the spitfire it was home,
Our hearts and souls were in that plane
It never flew alone.

Now Jesse Wood is my name
And I’m no longer in my prime,
But when I see a spitfire flying
Well – it could be one of mine.


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