Godspeed

This morning I woke one of four.

Two above, one below,

Junctions on an inverted tree,

Twigs becoming branches,

Spreading outwards to form new buds

Even as the boughs fade into thinning tales,

Superseded by new life.

Tonight I lay down one of three,

Just one above,

The one beyond consigned to memory

Still readily recalled, still fading, fast.

We asked him once, in one hundred years,

What was the best bit?

I hope tonight your soul takes flight,

That left and right, those dappled wings spread out,

The propeller turning in steady circles,

And on your flank that roundel mark,

Red, white and blue, I think, meant less to you

Than the sky beneath your wings.