She’s beautiful, our Yankee Lady.
Her wings huge and wide and low,
Chrome that shines on a clear fall day,
And a four-engine hum – distant, rumbling, penetrating, exhilarating.
We run eager to the yard, the deck, the window – anywhere – to catch a glimpse as she soars overheard.
But what horror she once delivered to those on the ground or those releasing her rounds.
How could something so brutal, so calculatingly crafted, be so beautiful?
And how can the sun dance and reflect on her chrome and our ears delight in her hum?
I don’t know.
But as I sit here quietly alone, I find refuge in her peaceful path;
For are we not all part of history’s one long and imperfect and unbroken chain?
And in our own time we’ll learn lessons hard and sacrifice to earn our part.
So take heart, have courage, and look up;
The Flying Fortress, here she comes ’round again.