was a seasoned world-war veteran and accustomed to hazardous flights,
wrote seven letters to as many friends. These he placed in the hands
of a fellow officer with instructions that they be mailed in the event
of his death. The poem was discovered in the lieutenant's personal
effects, written on a piece of scratch paper. It had been stuffed in a
breast pocket of his uniform. The writing was scraggly, due to the
vibration of the motors. This is the death poem:

Another hour and far away I fly;
A last farewell to my friends I cry;
Then up to the rosy dawn in flight;
A battle with the elements I must fight.
Lost in the fog and mist and rain;
Tossed hither and yonder I strive in vain
To again win out as I have in the past;
Little I knew this was to be my last.
Sharp crash, and my wings are broken back;
Every wire is useless with too much slack.
Down, down I swirl and slip and spin;
Thinking only of all my worldly sin.
The earth seems rushing up to me;
While rigged crags raise their heads to greet me.
As twisting and twirling downward I swirl;
I bid a sad good-bye to a little girl.
Lower down into the trees I crash;
My plane and I have gone to smash.
Up from the Mass call me,
My untouched, unfettered spirit flies
Straight to mother's waiting overhead.