For those few.

For those few.

And still they fly.

The few,

Who were too many

To lose.

Wearing wings,

That in four weeks

Of frantic flight

Became theirs to keep,

For all eternity.

Watching over

Clearing skies,

The whole of life’s horizon,

Surrounded by the blue.

Such young things,

Barely grown.

Still a child to

Those they left behind,

With nothing

But the heartbreak.

On the mantle,

A photograph,

A medal,

A sepia faded memory.

Such heroic waste

Of vibrant youth,

That may have

Never chanced

To feel a touch so sweet,

A lover’s kiss

Upon their lips,

Or lie upon

The grass so green,

And gaze together

Into the deepest sky,

And glory,

In the tragedy

Of its stark beauty.

But even now

They still fly.

In the wisp of vapour trails,

In winged hearts,

And the sound

Of aero engines,

Spitting fire in tribute,

As together,

In close formation,

They all fly by.

Forever.