Decorating a flying death machine
With quiet skill and determination
Marking a wing with details bright and clean
A tribute to your bellicose nation
Not long ago, suffrage was denied you
The stove and cradle were your bailiwick
Now war brings your dignity into view
Old insults cannot cut you to the quick
How quickly atavistic prejudice
Dissolves in the acid of circumstance;
Crises sometimes bring about some justice
The drums of war allow all feet to dance
You will soar when this painted wing takes flight
Against fascism, you have joined the fight
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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Uneasiness
Call me paranoid But I'm not sure November Is really our month
By D. J. Reddallabout a year ago in Poets
Comments (4)
Well done! Words and pic perfectly matched.
Whoaaaa, I learned so many new words from you today! Bellicose, atavistic and suffrage! Loved your poem!
That “drums of war” line really hits. Great job!
Such an empowering, well done poem.