Final Flight
By Harry
Purcell
The ranks are
getting thinner
with each
passing day.
Faces drawn
and wrinkled,
our hair has
turned grey.
The Wing is
but a Squadron,
and the
Squadron just a Flight.
We dream of
days of glory,
when we were
young and bright.
For duty,
honor, country
the words ring
out so clear,
the ever
present danger,
so imminent,
so near!
As I gaze into
your face,
your eyes are
growing dim,
yet patriotic
passion fires
are still
aglow within!
Farewell my
good comrade.
I loved you
best of all.
For you
carried out your orders
and answered
to the call!