A cousin of mine found this in some family papers and sent it to me yesterday. Two pages, typed, dated January 29, 1960. I have copied exactly as written.
"THE SILVER WINGS"
This is a sad story, that I shall relate,
Of my poor Buddy and his unfortunate fate.
We joined the Troopers, for thrills galore,
Besides they pay us fifty-five dollars more.
"We wear our wings, we wear them with pride.
For thsi bit of glory, Brave men have died."
The Airborne, our choice, they are plenty rough,
Fighting, they love it, they never get enough,.
It's our first jump, we're nervous and tence,
We wouldn't be here if we had any sence.
Chutes are adjusted, we were putting them on,
All ready to leave at the first crack of dawn,
A few rays of light appeared in the sky,
The planes were all loaded and ready to fly.
Down the runway our "winged coffin" roared,
As each man prayed, prayed to the Lord.
She left the ground, were airborn at last.
T'was fifteen minutes and they went by fast.
There wasn't a hand that would stay steady,
While waiting for the command, "Get Ready."
Then it came just as we had heard it times before.
Many times below in the old mock door.
"Everybody Happy", yelled the jumpmaster with cheer.
"Yes", we answered, with our hearts full of fear.
I stood in the door looking at the ground below.
Joe was behind me, the next man to go.
My canopy was blossomed, a sight to adore.
T'was then I saw Joe just leaving the door.
His body was turned in a powerful blast.
This jump was his first, and it would be his last.
Downward he hurtled, it was to late.
He had an appointment the lady called fate.
His screams were heard for miles around.
Ending abruptly when he hit the ground.
We all heard him hit though high in th sky.
I was a wittness, I saw Joe die.
I prepared to land, and hit with a thud.
The grass once green, now covered with blood.
I got up slowly and approached his form.
I touched his corpse, his flesh was still warm.
I held his crushed head, in tender embrace.
The tears ran down my anquished face.
I shuddered with grief at the horable sight.
There was more of Joe, off to the right.
I braced myself and looked at the rest.
His ribs protruded from his mangled chest.
The bloody will, from his pocket I took.
And opened it with fingers that shook.
A sharp pain pierced me deep inside.
As I read the word's of my Buddy who died.
(THE WILL)
"Ed, my jump boots I leave to you.
They are shined and polished almost new.
If you look in my jacket pocket,
There you will find my sweethearts locket.
Send it to her with all my love.
Tell her I went to heaven above.
Under my pillow on my bunk,
There is som money, throw a big drunk,
All I want is one last toast.
Here was a trooper, who fulfilled his boast.
And when you're gay,
Remember your pal of yesterday."
The medics arrived there was work to be done.
T'was only routine, just another dead one.
The colonel came at our request.
And pinned his own wings on poor Joe's chest.
The hearse pulled up to where he died.
And took him away on that long last ride.
"We wear our wings, we wear them with pride.
For this bit of glory, Brave men have died.
BY Dennis V. Reeder
dvr/bpa
End of the poem
This is presented as his original poem. I have no reason to believe that is not the case. If anyone has insight into this poem or my father, please comment on this post.
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