Post by Administrator on Feb 17, 2020 20:34:12 GMT
FALLEN ANGEL
All bundled as the new born babe,
In his sheepskin flying coat,
His mother's babe now plays with fate,
High aloft the chalky coast.
No mothers song contents his mind,
Just the roar of Merlin's soul,
As he flits amid the pillows white,
Chasing five, the sought for goal.
See her the hand that grasped babe's toys,
Now cased in leathern glove,
And see the sweated mated locks,
Once caressed with mother's love.
No childish laughter from his lips,
Now stiff from strain of war,
No guiding words from mother's heart,
Lost on the wind forever more.
Tears still streak a mother's cheek,
When she learns her babe is gone,
Bundled snug in flying coat,
Asleep and safe from harm.
Written for Remembrance Day some time ago. My only RAF related poem.
Ian A. Millar
All bundled as the new born babe,
In his sheepskin flying coat,
His mother's babe now plays with fate,
High aloft the chalky coast.
No mothers song contents his mind,
Just the roar of Merlin's soul,
As he flits amid the pillows white,
Chasing five, the sought for goal.
See her the hand that grasped babe's toys,
Now cased in leathern glove,
And see the sweated mated locks,
Once caressed with mother's love.
No childish laughter from his lips,
Now stiff from strain of war,
No guiding words from mother's heart,
Lost on the wind forever more.
Tears still streak a mother's cheek,
When she learns her babe is gone,
Bundled snug in flying coat,
Asleep and safe from harm.
Written for Remembrance Day some time ago. My only RAF related poem.
Ian A. Millar