The Final Flight

 

Fast, faster, over the turbulent ground!

We flew, streaking, nothing but exhaust fumes.

From below, fire streaked from the foe we found,

But their shots were weak, and their homes: just tombs.

My co-pilot, he reached for the release,

That would fling our iron death beneath.

But then, a jolt. We were missing a piece.

The plane caught fire, our sword still in its sheath.

 

In the jungle, fleeing like vicious thugs,

We fled from our Victims, screams for reprieve

Rang from our throats. Run! Atop hordes of bugs,

We’re caught. Without hope, my family should grieve.

My co-pilot’s dead, murdered in my sight

I will join him soon, tumbling into night.

---

 

A Trivial Pursuit

 

There was a young man sent to France,

Who went over the top to fight Chance.

He fell in the mud,

Encrusted with blood,

And the lines didn’t even advance.