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
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