With a spin of the propeller

the engine crackles and sputters

the pilot’s uniform, stellar

the blood-red Fokker triplane shudders

as it lurches forward and starts to roll

it leans into the sky and flutters

Baron Von Richthofen is airborne once more

he flies the triplane o’er the battlefield of France

seeking a lone flier to increase his score

he stares into the clouds as if in a trance

suddenly a dark green British Sopwith Camel

with British Ace Roy Brown at the controls

dives on the triplane from above, guns blazing

Richthofen shoves the stick forward

pushing the triplane into a steep dive

increasing speed and moving onward

like bees fleeing from a burning hive

bullets whiz by and tear into the red

fabric covered fuselage of the plane

The British pilot maneuvers behind the ace

firing short bursts into the back of the plane

the triplane barrel rows in a hurried pace

rolling and twisting but it’s all in vain

a speeding bullet strikes the Baron in the face

the burning triplane spirals downward in a spin

crashing with a thud into the desolate plain

and the Red Baron will score no more