B52s 1967


Straight white streaks across the sky,
Is all you see with the naked eye;
There is no sound from the sky above,
But they've come for "Charlie", with all our love.

A long way off there's a frightful din,
Their massive bombs are ploughing in;
The earth, it shakes from far away,
And even the leaves from the trees will stray.

Whole paddies turn to quarry pits,
Great masses of jungle torn to bits;
The holes they leave are really grouse,
They're deep enough to hide a house.

And all the dirt from in the ground,
Has vaporised, - it can't be found;
For every bomb weighs a thousand pounds,
It's "Hell on Earth" when they hit the ground.

A hundred or more from a single plane,
Either "Charlie's" dead or he's left insane;
So whichever way it's a job well done,
There's less of the bastards to carry a gun.  

 

 

© terry tommasi
c company vietnam 1st tour
Terry Tommasi

 

BACK TO POETRY PAGE Ι BACK TO CONTENTS PAGE