As the Lord is having his special, restful day, I thought it would be mellow to dust off Joe's summer evocation of the famous of the W B Yeats poem.
Goodness knows how powerful this might have been if he'd been put under some kind of pressure. It would have probably been too moving to put on the interweb.
An Irish Airman Foresees His Death by W B Yeats I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death