8th Son

I've a spare Red Horse beer. I'd give it to a Mustang pilot called Fredericks. We can talk planes and drink. I'd tell him how we looked for your location. Sunny 8 impacted Castleshaw Moor. Don't you know my friend and I looked thrice. We never found your warplane. Though I found true peace up there. I wanted to stay up on the moor. For I had no issues, felt free. At quiet times, I remember. Next year, we find your aeroplane. I will return from a third of world away to look. And remember the cost. Freedom and flying is not free. Nor is gunning Nazis down in turbulent skies. Your beer is undrunk. Death and time are in the way. But intent and memories cross the divide. No sadness, a salute...