Final Flight

By Harry Purcell


The ranks are getting thinner

with each passing day.

Faces drawn and wrinkled,

our hair has turned grey.


The Wing is but a Squadron,

and the Squadron just a Flight.

We dream of days of glory,

when we were young and bright.


For duty, honor, country

the words ring out so clear,

the ever present danger,

so imminent, so near!


As I gaze into your face,

your eyes are growing dim,

yet patriotic passion fires

are still aglow within!


Farewell my good comrade.

I loved you best of all.

For you carried out your orders

and answered to the call!