The Few

by | Nov 19, 2007 | Poetry | 0 comments

What was the weather like?
On that September day
Young men soaring above
The sky like Apollo
Their personal gift of light
Saviours from evil darkness
Silently encroaching
Trying to clutch our souls
Alone except for our hopes
Our prayers went with them

What were their thoughts?
Like naughty boys, flying
Having a laugh?
They were so young!
Newly ripened by the sun
Invincible, or so they thought
One brief round, a dive
A life now gone
The target not quite reached

What did those families do?
When that telegram arrived?
A woman bereft: grounded now
A bewildered child: parents stunned
Wreckage all around
A question we should ask,
If I may be so bold
Did we keep their dreams alive?

What were their names?
Biggles? Oh yes I know
How many brave unknown?
Their names engraved
At Runnymede
A potent document
Stands proud
Pointing to the sky


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