The Air Was Full Of Fire And Sand Poem by Gert Strydom

The night that I wished to be home
as the path we were on
lead to death
and not like the axiom to Rome

behind enemy lines
we called in the vultures of death
and the chill froze my breath
in clouds in the bright moonlight,

followed the mist from the river
penetrating ever deeper
into the enemy positions
we hid almost in their midst

and with the rising sun
eerie birds came screeching down
with flaming afterburners
dropping rockets and bombs
on enemy tanks,
shelling armoured cars
with raging canon
and the air was full
of fire and sand.