by Matthew Rawlins

Created on: January 10, 2009

Supersonic predators soar to their mark,

On a heading of peace, and a mission of right.

Air Raids draw scorn, and protest from afar,

In spite of our goals, in spite of our might.

Cries of the burned, blistered, and battered,

From the ominous cloud of dust and death.

Shame, metal eagle, of fiery breath,

For flying upon our scurrying flock.

Driven, and duty bound, fliers swoop down,

Guiding spears of destruction, on target, on lock.

The target that was, is a target no more.

Mourn not, the bloody, and footless sock.

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