Eastward they climb, black shapes against the grey
Of falling dusk, gone with the nodding day
From English fields.
Not theirs the sudden glow
Of triumph that their fighter-brothers know;
Only to fly through cloud, through storm, through Night
Unerring, and to keep their purpose bright,
Nor turn until, their dreadful duty done,
Westward they climb to race the awakened sun.
For further information on the loss of Flt Lt. Owen Chave
At the going down of the sun, and in the morning we will remember
them. - Laurence
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• Last Modified: 20 March 2014, 13:55 •