Best Warflying Poems
There were many unsavory jobs during the Second World War.
Some required guys to hunker down just a wee bit more!
None more so than "Tail-end Charlie" in the back of that old queen,
Known affectionately as the Flying Fortress, the B-Seven-teen!
Usually the smallest member of the ten-man bomber crew,
He was probably the most vulnerable target that ever flew!
Isolated in the tail end, genuflecting on his knees;
An appropriate position, imploring God with his fervent pleas!
Awakened from his reverie to face a day in the terror-filled sky,
Today's mission over the fatherland, nearly six miles high!
A Messerschmitt slides in to attack directly out of the sun;
"Charlie" sends him to eternity with a short burst from his gun!
Flak and shell around him would whistle, zing and hiss.
In his training days he was told there'd be thrilling days like this!
Nearly freezing, tho' he wore a bulky heated flying suit,
Ever alert, watching his six-o'clock for that enemy pursuit!
Jaunty but brave, this warrior winging thro' God's celestial dome,
Praying that he can fly his twenty-five missions and get safely home.
A grateful nation bestowing awards for laurels won upon his breast,
Home to his beloved America for a well-deserved rest!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
I’ve seen it torn and tattered,
Yet proudly it still waves.
I’ve seen it stained and spattered
With the blood of the precious brave.
I mostly see it flying high,
But sometimes it’s flying low,
In memory of those who died
Not so long ago.
I’ve seen it draped upon,
Someone who served us well.
I wish that I could sing its song,
And all its stories tell.
No matter if it’s old or new,
The majesty’s the same.
Its colors are red, white, and blue.
Old Glory is its name.