Submitted by: Frank Schlesinger

Category: Poetry

by Frank Schesinger

He was a farm boy from Nebraska.
He served his county well:
Fifty mission's 'gainst the Nazi's-
Fifty journeys into hell.

Nothing could be colder than a crew member's seat
In a Bomber 24 at thirty thousand feet.
He rode on top that boxcar plane - flak bursting all around.
Like death's ugly reaper, it made an angry sound.

Like fire from the Devil's eyes, Luftwaffe dove right in.
Tracers and the bullets popped right through the metal skin.
Among the clouds of puffs and smoke, Uncle Bob stood his ground.
He manned the turret guns 'til he shot the bastards down.

Fifty times he faced the danger.
Fifty times he conquered fear
Only to live it over again,
Year after year.

He did it not for glory! He did it not for fame!
He did it not for plutocrats, nor any corporate gain.
He did if for his buddies, and other working men.
He did it for our Bill of Rights, and his children's children's kin.

Lest some forget of fail to honor his sacrifice extreme
Let's sing it loud and clear!

Fifty missions ‘gainst the Nazis!
Fifty journeys into hell!
The farm boy from Nebraska,
He served our country well!

In honor of my uncle
A veteran of WW II from Shelby, Ne
T/Sgt Robert D. Ingalls
15th Air Force
455th Bomber Group (H)
743rd Squadron

About the author:

Retired Psychologist