The four points of the compass gyrate around,
The plane creaks as it rushes to groung.
Tragedy looms as the captain had said,
One engine gone and the others dead.

Two hundred souls and a crew of eight,
Falling downward with gravities weight.

The flight was normal, all well on the way,
Our speed and direction had shortened the day
And tinted sunclouds were fading to grey.

An explosion somewhere, flames and a rip
Port wing down and all things slip.
Lights dim and fear fills the cabin
The young scream and the old are crying.

All life's hopes are leading to this?
Each one plunging to the black abyss.

The four points of the compass gyrate around
Atomic shower as plane meets ground.
Tragedy came as the capatin had said,
One engine gone now all is dead.


Peter Dronfield 1980