From A Flight Deck Catwalk

Upon a darkened ocean,
On a brightly moonlit night,
Frothy waves were passing by,
Quickly floating out of sight.

  The very beauty of the moon,
With its hand stretched across the sea,
Made me think those thoughts of love,
Of home and of family.

  Toward the port side was the flight deck,
And the smell of JP-5.
As afterburners were raging,
The ground crews were coming alive.

  The warmth of those roaring engines,
Could be felt by all around,
And the noise was rather deafening,
As jets left this floating ground.

  Up forward was the massive bow,
Slicing through the open sea,
Heading toward a pitch black night,
Where only radar could possibly see.

  To the aft was the fantail,
And four propellers frothy tails,
Which left their marks upon the sea,
As rippling, wavy trails.

  While I stood upon that catwalk,
As we traveled to the west,
I was glad that we were returning,
To our homeport and a rest.

© 08/25/94 by David L. Henkel

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