He sits at ease on his bronzed bench

Viewing proceedings with measured distaste.

Deep in thought, reminiscing of times past

When a Nation stood upon the brink of precipice.


Where valiant hearts fought to their last breath,

Hundreds of thousands of tremulous hearts silenced

That we might feel tonight’s early evening breeze cool

Gladdened cheeks whilst gazing at a vast indigo sky.


We cannot know whether it was worth such weighty sacrifice.

Oh, we think we do with our Poppy Day appeals

And our solemn mid-morning salute as we mourn.

But the cost cuts deepest with the noble few left behind.


And you know just by looking at those steely eyes,

He counts the cost every day as he sits contemplating

What may have come to pass but for vainglorious hearts.

He broods that grave equation along each furrowed brow


The debt that sets us free

A typical Surrey hayfield
A typical Surrey hayfield

Few sounds, though heard so seldomly,
register with our audio database,
almost instantly identifiable as we
sweep the skies for Spitfire wings.

Some sights swell national pride
like this Prince of the Royal Air Force,
arcing on the wing, fast descending,
tilting his colours at those transfixed below.

We Brits stand a little taller,
spines stretch a little straighter,
chests out, shoulders back, eyes aloft
as we remember past glories, prices paid.

Our words may never be good enough
epitaphs for those brave men and women,
whom, but for they, our world would not be.
Our depth of pride sprouts wings, sets us free.

Copywrite: thegreenfingeredpoet

Please only share crediting this source as owner