Poezja

That night great strain was on each youthful face,
in the hangar we did equipment check,
called-up each from a different place.

The Hercules roared at a quick pace
as in many sticks we were strapped in,
with the flashing red light my heart did race;

to some an enemy jump is commonplace,
a paratrooper did vomit on me
and I begged God for His saving grace.

Suddenly I had to step into space,
I heard the roar of anti-aircraft guns,
snipers in trees was another menace

while I felt the wind’s jerking soft embrace,
as we got down in a wooded terrain,
saw some women of the fleeing populace,

but that was only the smallest preface
as rockets and bullets whooshed over us,
called-up each from a different place.