The Eagles gather, once young, brave Eagles that on wings of steel
soared high and roamed wide in troubled skies, now older and fewer
with each passing year.
Where have the years gone? Wasn't it just yesterday that they were
mere boys so proud in their Aviator's greens with wings of gold?
The years may have dimmed the eyes, but not the memories. Memories of
a time when living from day to day, seemingly suspended infinitely
between life and death, time and time again hurtling skyward in
machines with engines throbbing to the beat of their pounding hearts,
a bond of camaraderie was welded never to be broken.
Once again together, they relive the fleeting moments of glory. Once
again they hear the roar of engines, the whirr of propellers, and the
creaking and groaning of lumbering giants lifting off soggy coral
runways.
The names of comrades fallen from the sky are never mentioned, but
not forgotten. For though they are absent, they are forever bound to
them.
Yes, the Eagles gather, no longer young but still proud, fewer with
each passing year.
Written by Ambrose G. Dell, Lt. U.S.N.R., Ret.
"Dedicated to Navy Bombing Squadron VPB-102"
April 8, 1982
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