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Gleaming and proud in the morning sky
Or lying awake in bed at night
I hear them pass on their outward flight
I feel the mass of metal
and guns
Delicate instruments, deadweight tons
Awkward, slow, bomb racks full
Staining away from downward pull
Straining away from home and base
And try to see the pilot’s face
I imagine a boy who’s just left school
On whose quick-learned skills and courage cool
Depend the lives of the men in his crew
And success of the job they have to do
And something happens to me inside
That is deeper than grief, greater than pride
And though there is nothing I can say
I always look up as they go their way
And care and pray for everyone,
And steel my heart to say,
“Thy will be done.” |
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