High Flight

John Gillespie Magee, Jr.

Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds -- and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of -- wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence, Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace,
Where never lark, or even eagle, flew;
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untreaspassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

Written by a 19-year-old American volunteer with the Royal Canadian Air force, who was killed in action December 11, 1941.
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AIRMANs LAST CALL
Author Unknown

I hope there's a place way up in the sky,
where airmen can go the day that they die

A place where a guy can buy a cold beer,
for a friend or a comrade, whose memory is dear

A place no doctor or lawyer can tread,
nor the FAA type would e'er be caught dead

Just a quaint little place, dark, full of smoke,
where patrons sing loud, and love a good joke

The kind of place a lady could go,
and feel safe and protected by the men she would know

There must be this place where old airmen go,
when their flying is finished, and their airspeed gets low

Where the whiskey is old, and the women are young,
where songs about flying and dying are sung

Where you see all the fellows who'd flown here before,
who call out your name, as you came through the door

Who would buy you a drink, if your thirst should be bad,
and relate to others, "He was a good lad"

And then through the mist, you'd spot this old guy,
you hadn't seen in years, though he taught you to fly

He'd nod his old head, and grin ear to ear,
And say, "Welcome, home son, I'm pleased that you're here"

For this is the place where true flyers come,
when their journey is over, and their war has been won

Here they feel safe and just like at home,
away from the pundit, the bureaucrat, the management clone,

Where all hours are happy, enjoying a cold one, maybe deal from a deck,
this is heaven my son,  You've passed your last check !