crunches underfoot to the sound,
and vibrations of twin wasps.
Into the belly, the keeper of the brain
to the nerve centre for a seat
in the cold hardness of war.
Moving slowly o'er the grass
and into the reaches of space.
Into the arms of a waiting enemy,
and wishing forever for home........
© George Murphy September 15, 1995
This is one I done some time ago. Picture a Newfoundland pilot crawling into one of these planes on a cold winter night. The pic is a plane called the "Beaufighter", the type used by the 125 Newfoundland squadron in England. Not the same call letters on this one, but might have been a scene that could have taken place when one of our boys took to the English skies. The squadron later converted to Mosquito's. They started off on Bolton Paul Defiants before going to Beaufighters.
I have a few more bits of poetic justice that I'll put up here in the coming weeks, particularly as we get close to Remembrance Day.