Warning from a Visitor in the Control Tower

To airmen crossing and communicant With orders of this field, no landing here But by the grace of God; no postulant Piloting earthward should abuse his fear: Trust in the instruments which fall their round, Tonight the only ceiling is the ground; Zero, from nothing into nothing made, Signifies all of altitude that stayed. Notice the fog that makes me all but blind; Here in the tower my skeleton will do To signal you. I am for all your kind Tonight’s full complement and only crew. Airmen, I hope you read loud and clear; Your radios sound happy and sincere: Roger, you say, and dive for wreaths of holly Thinking the next voice heard will be as jolly. Suggest you take along the death’s-head flag And hope that waving it will set you free. Judgment, like flights, may be a game of tag And you can shake and plead the Varsity. Say that team spirit was your only motive: You shot them up and did a locomotive. What if there is a temporary fetter? Christ understands. He also got his letter. I have you, heroes, holding each your course: You shot them up a little, and you grope Tonight with neither memory nor remorse; My skull is watching in the radarscope. I marvel as I track your sure downfall How you can navigate or fly at all For thinking of the tallies without log Until you make an error in this fog.