The Battle of Britain
The teens that swung in God's skies
as death's grip was ever tugging at their soul;
in the blue, where their brother's spitfire squad
sneered at death, as each day took its ghastly toll.
Not long since, as children, they stared and
wondered if they fell, would the clouds catch them.
Comrades have fallen all around - friends/brothers
whose love and courage guide all that follow.
It is a beautiful blue and a quiet peace.
High, before the eagle dives, it screams so loudly,
praying that God's love and strength will guide,
so, at last, a trust to be caught by the clouds.
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