Guilty Bombardier

I once met an anguished veteran,
A bombardier,
Crying as he discarded his medals,
He adored his flag,
And loved to fly just as much,
O’er mountain and border,
Turboprop and piston and jets,
But the air is the realm of war as well as cherubs,
They abused his aeronautical love,

He grew tired of painting red upon maps,
Weary of scorching the edges of the parchment,
Dropping bombs for powerful men,
Craters where lives once flourished,
The guilt overtook his pride over the years,
Aircraft were no more iron angels,
But dragons with dread munitions,
So he dropped those platinum medals,
As he once expelled hell from the sky.