A poem submitted by CDR Paul M. Pompier
by CDR Paul M. Pompier
I hope there is a place, way up in the sky,
Where Naval Aviators can go, when they have to die.
A place where a guy could buy a cold beer
For a friend and comrade whose memory is dear.
A place where no blackshoe or porkchop could tread,
Nor a Pentagon type would e're be caught dead!
Just a quaint little O"Club; kind of dark, full of smoke,
Where they like to sing loud, and love a good joke.
The kind of place where a lady could go
and feel safe and protected by the men she would know.
There must be a place where old Navy/Marine pilots go
When their wings get too weary, and their airspeed gets low.
Where the whiskey is old and the women are young,
and songs about flying and dying are sung.
Where you'd see all the shipmates you served with before,
And they'd call out your name as you came through the door,
Who would buy you a drink, if your thirst should be bad
And relate to the others, "He was quite a good lad."
And then thru the mist you'd spot an old guy
You had not seen in years, though he'd taught you to fly.
He'd nod his old head and grin ear to ear,
and say "Welcome shipmate, I'm pleased that you're here!
For this is the place where Naval Aviators come
when the battles are over and the wars have been won.
They've come here at last to be safe and afar
From the government clerk and the management czar,
Politicians and lawyers, the feds and the noise,
Where all hours are happy, and these good ol' boys
can relax with a cool one, and a well-deserved rest!
This is HEAVEN, my son, you've passed your last test!"