My father flew when I was very young
With symbols like this on a row of planes;
As I, afraid of noise, and quite high-strung,
Would watch as loving homage filled my veins

The hero that’s a father to a boy
Who has not yet been struck hormonally;
When planes are just another giant toy
Who one must wait to play with, patiently

That symbol was a shield, a old roundel,
With wings to symbolize the power of flight;
Although back then, I couldn’t really tell,
Twas just part of the whole, and awesome, sight

The bigger symbol though, for me, back then –
Was what my father symbolized of men

= = = = =

A prompted post. Photo credit : © Buschmen | Dreamstime.com – Roundel Of The US Air Force Photo