A divine wind blows in a war we have begun,

Red ribbon flutters under the Rising Sun,

Eyes burning with the flames of our past,

For our nation and honour we fight to the last.

A divine wind; the spring blossom takes flight,

A swirling mass where lost pink blossoms fight,

Taking to the skies are those honourable petals,

The strength imbued in the shimmering metals.

A divine wind supports our sunlit wings,

An empire, a past, honour forever sings,

Against that pleasant ocean of blue,

The children of the empire fight for true.

A divine wind, a final forlorn sweeping blow,

The ground approaches swifty; targets grow,

In the final moments before my honoured demise,

I brandish my invisible sword, now reprised.

A divine wind carries me towards my end,

A honoured soul, from the heavens descends,

The tumbling blossom, an immortal servant,

Of the divine wind and empire, tubulent.

By James Womack