Ghosts - The Spitfire Pilot Poem by Paul Warren

It was 1940 and the British few
Were fighting against the Luftwaffe as they flew
In the Battle of Britain as so much was owed
To the RAF as the air battle over Britain flowed

He was a Fighter Ace and flew a Spitfire
When he got on a Nazi's tail he only needed to fire
And the plane would turn over and spiral down
In defeat as the plane on fire slams in the ground

On this day early in the morning sunlight
The British pilots were scrambled to the fight
And he ran to his Spitfire and climbed aboard
As the engine ignited and into the air he soared

The fight was tough and he picked out a BF109
As the dogfight wound together in flying design
The German pilot was good but he was the best
British pilot won as the BF 109 crashed to its final rest

But the Spitfire had been damaged and controlling it was difficult
With a tail smoking as he made his way back carefully as he was dealt
When he saw the airfield runway he thought he was safe now
And he lined up on the runway but the plane dipped and crashed in with a Pow!

There was no explosion just a wrecked Spitfire plane
And they saw the pilot walking away with anger in his step that did not wane
He walked to the control tower and those in the tower lost sight of him
Fully expecting to see him in the tower speaking about a narrow escape with a grin

The fire and emergency crew went to the plane to check it out
And they found the pilot's body still in his seat in the wreckage in doubt
Of how the pilot was seen walking along the runway
When he was dead in the pilot's seat a the edge of the airfield away

The Airfield today is a Museum to those men and times
With the hangars full as workshops and planes so fine
The control tower is still in place watching over the base
And on some days you may see the pilot walking from his crash site.

© Paul Warren Poetry