She was quite the looker, her eyes a cold blue steel.
Her legs went on forever and that’s just part of her appeal.
He met her in a magazine, then in a glossy print.
He painted her, from Memory, on his plane and off they went.
She flew with him into battle. She was his lucky charm.
17 bombing missions they came thru without harm.
They flew over Hitler’s Germany way up high and cold.
They faced fearful odds against the chance of growing old.
Then, when the war was over and her boys went home
The wings of war were mothballed; decades she spent alone.
The years of wind, sun and rain faded the old girl.
By the time I finally found her she was not long for this world.
I looked at my Grandpa’s photo of the bomber he once flew.
Despite the faded colors I was certain it was you.
The owners of the junkyard looked with favor on my quest
As I set out to battle the years of grime and rust.
Then I set out my palette to restore each shade and hue
I cannot make grandfather young but I can restore her to you
Her legs are lithe and beautiful just as I ‘d been told
her eyes a cold blue steel,and her hair a platinum gold.
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 10:13 PM UTC
She was quite the looker, her eyes a cold blue steel.
Her legs went on forever and that’s just part of her appeal.
He met her in a magazine, then in a glossy print.
He painted her, from Memory, on his plane and off they went.
She flew with him into battle. She was his lucky charm.
17 bombing missions they came thru without harm.
They flew over Hitler’s Germany way up high and cold.
They faced fearful odds against the chance of growing old.
Then, when the war was over and her boys went home
The wings of war were mothballed; decades she spent alone.
The years of wind, sun and rain faded the old girl.
By the time I finally found her she was not long for this world.
I looked at my Grandpa’s photo of the bomber he once flew.
Despite the faded colors I was certain it was you.
The owners of the junkyard looked with favor on my quest
As I set out to battle the years of grime and rust.
Then I set out my palette to restore each shade and hue
I cannot make grandfather young but I can restore her to you
Her legs are lithe and beautiful just as I ‘d been told
her eyes a cold blue steel,and her hair a platinum gold.
A grandson of a World War II bomber pilot finds and restores his
grandfather's plane
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