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donaldbyers
4/10/2009 11:38:35 PM | THE BOMBERS
Whenever I see them ride on high
Gleaming and proud in the morning sky
Or lying awake in bed at night
I hear them pass on their outward flight
I feel the mass of metal and guns
Delicate instruments, deadweight tons
Awkward, slow, bomb racks full
Straining away from downward pull
Straining away from home and base
And try to see the pilot's face
I imagine a boy who's just left school
On whose quick-learned skill and courage cool
Depend the lives of the men in his crew
And success of the job they have to do.
And something happens to me inside
That is deeper than grief, greater than pride
And though there is nothing I can say
I always look up as they go their way
And care and pray for every one,
And steel my heart to say,
"Thy will be done."
— Sarah Churchill, daughter of Sir Winston.
Sgt. Donald C. Byers, 613th Bomb Squadron, Togglier, 42-97344 Carrie B II, KIA 08/24/1944.
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Jackie Sharp Sheflin
4/11/2009 5:13:05 AM | Don,
This is a very powerful poem! Thank you so much for sharing it here.
Jackie
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donaldbyers
4/11/2009 7:44:55 AM | I am not the one who really understands Poetry in some of their real meaning but once in awhile a light comes on !!!!! Bright or Dim ha!
Don
Sgt. Donald C. Byers, 613th Bomb Squadron, Togglier, 42-97344 Carrie B II, KIA 08/24/1944.
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VernsDaughter
6/14/2009 6:16:52 PM | Great poem; makes us think!
Thanks,
Jean
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