The plane through a bruised sky flew
In shades of deep red, yellow and dark blue
It had a dead stick in the pilot's tight grip
The crew looked out with death stares as writ
The bombing mission over Germany was the plan
Dresden was the mission carpetbombing the demand
So they dropped their bombs whilst the city burned
And then towards England and home their thoughts turned
They could see the fire back on the horizon
And the flak with each white light explosion
Rattled the plane until one burst so near
Blew the plane out of this world to the next so clear
But the crew didn't notice this change in the air
And so continued flying on with a growing despair
Their compass was showing their way home
Still flying on now destined forever to roam
They say now when the sun rises in the east
You can hear the rumbling of the Lancaster in the peace
And maybe if the rising sun catches the light
You may see the plane flying along in an endless flight.
© Paul Warren Poetry
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem