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FITZROY
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Falklands 82 FITZROY
Low and fast,
That’s how they came.
Screaming low across the ground.
I swear.
If I’d tried.
I could have touched it, as it passed.
A trail of death and devastation,
They’d left behind.
Where the rising black plumes of smoke,
Lay testament to that.
The dead, the maimed,
Trapped on a floating inferno.
In that brief moment.
Fathers, sons and brothers, Died.
The lucky ones that lived.
Bleeding, burnt and scarred, shocked.
Not now, the men I once knew.
Jim Love
