Here in a corner of an Englishshire
Far from the home land that he fought to save,
A Belgian pilot sleeps, who dying gift
His hall, for all of England to admire.
Here was a warrior of the lonely sky
Modest and brave, outstanding or his race,
Who winged the outer air with swallow's grace.
To us it Hardly Seemed That he could it.
And many friends who loved him and who live
Live thanks to him - his was the magic touch
That plucked them from the death he Scorned so much,
And like a shepherd homed them. Do not grieve
If you shouldering pass this way in the next years -
His was a life That shone too bright for tears.
At the going down of the sun, and in the morning we will remember
them. - Laurence
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• Last Modified: 07 August 2015, 16:48 •