The Parachute Drop

Swaying undulating like bouquets from heaven so gently descending in white waves the flowers of youth came down. They kissed the tall trees and church spires as they made for the village green and the roads and back gardens seen on the way to the aerodrome It was blue sky above us white clouds with no motion Sunday bells ringing as we watched from the windows. Peace all around soon to be shattered As the parachutes landed we saw soldier men and guns to the fore. They missed Biggin Hill but we caught them on a quiet Sunday morning when a vision of flowers his death at our door.