Navigation
Once there were LOPs
Getting them a hard task
It was fun and amused
Took sextant, shot the sun
Or stars, satellites
Got angles and the heights
LOP
The Line of Position
In flight we had height
There were two altitudes
True above land; pressure
By adding-subtract; LOP
Next varied; could be map
Larger-small in their size
One over million as the best
There could be RMI, TACAN or VOR
On far seas were master or slave, LORAN lines
Limited but good, nice, was Radar
No less than three lines
Lines crossed and made fix
On that we, went, honed-in
Now God-damn GPS
This guide is Alzheimer
Removes thoughts and conscious
Makes us dumb; lost always
Unless with…that bullshit
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem