12 o’clock high
The heavens high
Beckon our wing
A skyscaping ballet
That sets the scene
Of hushed quiet calm
Gusts of the zephyr
As a swallow
Across the mere
Lifts our winged endeavours
The sun is their ally
The clouds their friends
Gliding and slipping
On thermals unseen
Shrouded from view
Until that moment
The time to unfurl
Felt as a second skin
In their mercurial machines
Suddenly the enemy spied
Adrenaline takes hold
Nerve ends intensify
Banking hard
Raking turn
From 12 o’clock high
Our Angels descend
Drawn, sped downward
Blades a blur
The jousting begins
Our knights fit to pounce
Unfettered, unshackled
To bring their surprise
To the recipient foe
Down. Down then
As if unsheathed
Our boys fly in
Sight as yet unseen
To relinquish
This arrogant blight
Who dare to think
The sky above our isle
Is theirs by right
Not so. It’s ours decreed
Our precious homeland
Ancient supremacy
Our earned legacy
Our saviours above
There to attend
Beyond and about
Their duty calls
Destiny awaiting
For the next battle drawn
To end the trespass
Our angels so blessed go
To bring the demise
Of those far below