This poem is part of “We Swoop at Dawn” and written by a pilot from Jay Zeamer’s old 22nd Bomb Group. The poem had been copied and passed around to airmen in theater, many of whom flew with it stuffed into a pocket of their boilersuits. The poem went on for 18 more stanzas and included the line “We’ll all go to town and get drunk as a skunk.”
No matter how many missions a man may fly,
He never gets over being afraid to die.
It’s a funny feeling, hard to explain,
You tighten all up from your toes to your brain
Your stomach’s all empty, and your face feels drawn.
When you hear the old cry, “WE SWOOP AT DAWN.”
But the men who went out into the morning cold
Thought not of medals and heroes bold.
Most likely they thought of their girls and their homes
And the hell they’d give those yellow gnomes
For causing the war, the pain, and the strife,
And for taking away the best years of their life.
I salute all the airmen past and present! You did a wonderful service to our country.
You can read the complete poem at International Historical Research Associates. Here is the link.