It's just a Beau going in...

Poetry Break!

First, some context:
 
Pictured: A Bristol Beaufighter.
Originally conceived as a twin engine, two man, heavy fighter, it suffered the fate of all the heavy fighters of WW2 apart from the Lockheed P-38 Lightning  and the DeHaviland Mosquito. Said fate being: Being either pushed aside or pressed into service as night fighters.
In this latter role, their deficiencies in agility could be more than offset by increased capacity for radar and armaments.

As you can see, she's a good-sized unit.
Notice; Right above the head of the fella on the left are two of the tubes for the four 20 mm Hispano Mk II cannon in the nose with a load of 240 rounds per gun. 
Realistically, that's only about thirty second's worth but...
The observer, in the back seat had his own Browning MG, chambered in .303 Brit.
They were a serious item during the Battle of Britain and apparently their occasional demise was visible from shore. Such as by poet, Gavin Ewart who, to my knowledge wrote exactly one war poem. He was a Royal Artillery officer during the war and apparently was deeply affected by it.

When a Beau Goes In.

When a Beau goes in,

Into the drink,

It makes you think,

Because, you see, they always sink

But nobody says "Poor lad"

Or goes about looking sad

Because, you see, it's war,

It's the unalterable law.

Although it's perfectly certain

The pilot's gone for a Burton

And the observer too

It's nothing to do with you

And if they both should go

To a land where falls no rain nor hail nor driven snow —

Here, there, or anywhere,

Do you suppose they care?

You shouldn't cry

Or say a prayer or sigh.

In the cold sea, in the dark

It isn't a lark

But it isn't Original Sin —

It's just a Beau going in.