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One Sunday morning,
'Twas out in sunny France;
I met some Hun birds,
And didn't have a chance:
They shot my gas tank
And my engine through,
The first thing I knew
My flying days were through,
with bells on: —
I crashed on landing,
Then fired a shot,
Which washed my buss out
Right on the spot;
I hit a Bosch right on the nose,
When he pinched my flying clothes,
One Sunday morning,
When the Huns got me.

By Ed Klingman
Shot down Sunday, September 1, 1918