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Poetry from within

The Pilots Way

A summer Sunday we a laze around, mechanics working is a distant sound

I turn a page and look around, I see pilots sleeping on chairs and the ground

I hear a ringing, I hear a distant yell, but there’s no mistaking that scrambling bell

First the phone, then comes the shout, but when we hear that bell we run like hell

I run to my plane and start to climb in, I start the engine and hear my hurricane sing

Down the grass runway I gather speed, to defend our country this is our hour of need

A woman’s voice gives us direction and height, we’re minutes away then we’ll be in the fight

I look to my left and look to my right, who will be here at the end of this flight

A big dark cloud grows in front of me, oh my god it’s the enemy I see

We are out numbered at least four to one, although we’re few in numbers we will not run

The enemy formation gets bigger the closer we fly, but for my country, I am willing to die

“HUNS IN THE SUN” comes a radio call, I look to my right and see hurricane fall

For the bombers I steady my course, if we make an impact we’ll just bloody their nose

I pull the trigger and let my bullets roam free, we’re exchanging fire, the lead bomber and me

My rounds strike home his engine ignites, as he drops out of formation, this is the end of his fight

As I fly through the bomber formation I give my trigger a squeeze, I hope my rounds hit as the enemy’s hitting me

I find a gap to make my escape, and I think to myself how much more damage to take

For my aviation brothers I go back for more, I can only hope to even the score

I pull the trigger and see my bullets strike true, then I pull back on the stick and climb up to the blue

I come around and take steady aim, anyone would think that we are insane

I pull my trigger again until my guns run dry, then all of a sudden my engines died

Through the air I gently glide, but the enemy rounds are hitting my hide

My canopy is stuck I cannot get free, in my mirror a Messerschmitt is on me

His guns light up some bullets pass by, but he is accurate and I will surely die

The canopy shatters its my chance to escape, a chance to fight again it’s a chance I take

The cold cold air rushes passed my face, I get a glimpse of the enemy, I see he’s an ace

With a rough tug my chute opens wide, as I look around I have nowhere to hide

Like a puppet on a string I dangle free, I hope for the wind to blow me away from the sea

It’s only now when I feel the pain, now I realise that I’ve been slain

I land with a thump on the sandy beach, am far too weak for safety to reach

To a rock I do my best to crawl, but each time I try, each time I fall

I close my eyes for much needed rest, for my country, I tried my best…..

Gordon Bruce