God of the Sun, inhabitant of skies
Where flash the fork-ed lightning’s jagged flames
From storm clouds black and fiercely ominous;
God of the Ravens - mighty thunderer
Tootoosch, thy totem lives and breathes again.
Once more thy lightning’s flash and thunder’s roll
Strikes terror to the craven hearts beneath.

Thine eyes dart flames, destroying those whose deeds
Have earned thy wrath. Amidst the raging storm
Thou came and brought thy fledgling brood with thee.
“On Wings of Fire” fly they now with me
And sing that cataclysmic song of thine-
The chant of death that only they can sing.
For that they live - and dying, live anew
In those who surely follow after them.

Each night they’ll wing their certain way
Amidst the stars that thou dost call thine own
And bring thy curse unto their enemy.
Thy clutch will be within their curving hulls,
The eggs of death (that thou didst prophesy
Would burn the tents and scatter pestilence
O’er all the land where dwell the hated race)
Will nightly rain upon their naked heads.
And we who live and are thy savage brood,
Desire only this one boon of thee:

A warrior’s death, a warrior’s home in eternity.

Flight Sergeant (Navigator) James R. Baker
January 1945, No. 426 (Thunderbird) Squadron
RCAF Station Linton-on-Ouse