- Joined
- Dec 27, 2011
- Messages
- 1,080
- Location
- Cedar Rapids, IA
- Display Name
- Martin Pauly
- Home Airfield
- KCID
’Twas the night before Oshkosh, and all through the field,
Not an engine was turning, all propellers still sealed.
The tents were all pitched in the North 40 with care,
In hopes that the sunrise soon would be there.
The campers were nestled all snug in their bags,
With dreams of formation flights, smoke trails, and flags.
And I, just back from an SOS night cap,
Had just settled in for a good night's nap.
When over at Warbirds arose such a rumble,
I sprang from my cot with a trip and a tumble.
Out of the tent I flew like a flash,
Knocking over my cooler in one noisy crash.
The moon on the wings of the parked RV-8s
Gave a glow to the rows of those flying greats.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But Matt Younkin’s Twin Beech, drawing ever so near!
With loops and with rolls in the darkening sky,
Red strobes winking as he thundered by.
And then came the Titans, their engines a roar,
Carving wild spirals we couldn’t ignore.
More rapid than Mustangs their aircraft they came,
And the crowd whistled, cheered, and called them by name:
"Now pyro! Now pulses! Now smoke trails so wide!
On wingtip to wingtip, they loop and they glide!"
To the edge of the heavens, to the break of the night,
They danced with precision, a dazzling sight.
Then silence descended, the ramp lights aglow,
As campers returned, hearts still all aglow.
We feasted on cheese curds, fresh squeaky and fried,
And toasted with Spotted Cow we’d smuggled inside.
Stories were swapped ’neath the stars up above,
Of biplanes and taildraggers, and aviation love.
The sound of a Stratocruiser hummed in the mist,
With whispers of warbirds too hard to resist.
And as I lay back, still grinning with glee,
I thought, “This is the only place to be.”
For tomorrow would bring jets, Cubs, and Harriers that hover,
And perhaps even Bob Hoover’s old Shrike to discover.
So I murmured with joy as I turned off my light—
"Happy Oshkosh to all, and to all a good flight!"
See you all in Oshkosh!
Not an engine was turning, all propellers still sealed.
The tents were all pitched in the North 40 with care,
In hopes that the sunrise soon would be there.
The campers were nestled all snug in their bags,
With dreams of formation flights, smoke trails, and flags.
And I, just back from an SOS night cap,
Had just settled in for a good night's nap.
When over at Warbirds arose such a rumble,
I sprang from my cot with a trip and a tumble.
Out of the tent I flew like a flash,
Knocking over my cooler in one noisy crash.
The moon on the wings of the parked RV-8s
Gave a glow to the rows of those flying greats.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But Matt Younkin’s Twin Beech, drawing ever so near!
With loops and with rolls in the darkening sky,
Red strobes winking as he thundered by.
And then came the Titans, their engines a roar,
Carving wild spirals we couldn’t ignore.
More rapid than Mustangs their aircraft they came,
And the crowd whistled, cheered, and called them by name:
"Now pyro! Now pulses! Now smoke trails so wide!
On wingtip to wingtip, they loop and they glide!"
To the edge of the heavens, to the break of the night,
They danced with precision, a dazzling sight.
Then silence descended, the ramp lights aglow,
As campers returned, hearts still all aglow.
We feasted on cheese curds, fresh squeaky and fried,
And toasted with Spotted Cow we’d smuggled inside.
Stories were swapped ’neath the stars up above,
Of biplanes and taildraggers, and aviation love.
The sound of a Stratocruiser hummed in the mist,
With whispers of warbirds too hard to resist.
And as I lay back, still grinning with glee,
I thought, “This is the only place to be.”
For tomorrow would bring jets, Cubs, and Harriers that hover,
And perhaps even Bob Hoover’s old Shrike to discover.
So I murmured with joy as I turned off my light—
"Happy Oshkosh to all, and to all a good flight!"
See you all in Oshkosh!
