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.
Copyright © Terry Vannecksurplice | Year Posted 2014
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