Sometimes/ Remembrance

I have a fondness for RAF pilots. Especially the WW2 ones. As I was writing a thing about them in prose, this came. The picture is of 106 squadron 's crew of Leslie Boivin, perished in 1944

Sometimes

It looks as if

I'm starting to

Remember.

The notes

Of fragrance

The tones

Of the laughter.

There are times

I close my eyes

And see the faces

In a lavender blur.

The memories

Are creeping back,

And they bring

A strange comfort.

The feeling of

A hand on my shoulder.

A voice saying

'We'll fly through this, too'

Silver on

Airforce blue.

Wheat gold silk

Against the skin.

The memories

Start crawling back.

The laughter,

The nights before the storm.

The promise

To return

No matter

What's the cost.

And it feels like

Home is closer

And the war is gone

In the pitch of the engine.

And they are all there

My lost boys.

Strong and calm

In the face of impending demise.

And I ask,

Why don't I remember

Those last moments

Of fire and storm.

And they say,

Nobody ever does.

There were happy days

They keep us going.

And they show me

The fields

Of red and green,

Full of memories.

That is our fiddlers green,

Our fields of red,

Ever peaceful

Under the lavender skies.

We'll fly through this.

We'll make it.

We won't let them

Break us.

Roger that?..