William N. Janes, Sr


The combat missions that I flew
Were busy, busy days
And I never had the time to think
Of the price that I might pay.

A lot of missions were cold as ice
But some of them were hot.
On those, I could have lost my life
Others did; but I did not.

Others felt the fatal wound
As the bullet tore and seared
And as I slept, I tossed and turned
And dreamt of what I feared.

The worst dream, though, was yet to come.
Our ledger has a blot.
I can’t forgive, and I won’t forget
The friends who died for naught.

With them, I think, I’d rather be.
They do not know the truth.
They love this country still, and yet
It killed them in their youth.