Children of the sky
Ring . . . and run like hell
Scrawled in chalk on the bell
Twelve young heroics to their steeds
Run as one to each of their own
Shortage of breath
With adrenalin mixed
Slide into the cockpit
Heart thumping hard
No other thoughts
But get in the air
Was it the fifth time that day?
The prop already turning
Set up by his crew
The three of them with him
Meeting of eyes
Two on the chocks
The third thumbs up
The sweet sound of power
The first move abrupt
Then away across the green
Jockeying for position
A moving indelible scene
As one, all lift
From the cloying earth
Beneath their wheels
Now floating on air
Their hearts now calm
In a different world
Their own universe
As angels up to the heights
Heralding and beckoning
The work to be done
To deliver their fight
As they climb
Higher and higher
Into the void
Into the wild blue yonder
That is their right
To own and love
The skyscape above
Defiant and ready
To assemble their flight
Some are scared
Others without fear
Let us live with our heroes
Each and every one
As they prepare to unleash
Their welcome
To the hordes that come
It’s a colossal task
There’s no more say
A huge weight to deliver
The enemy undone
By children as of our own
Around age twenty one
Bandits seen
Some one hundred strong
To deliver their fire
To our country below
Carrying death
And destruction
Harm to our masses
Now is the time to show
The calibre of our own
Brave boys all
To enter the throw
Tally ho chaps
Make every one count
Let’s rout the stack
Who dare show their might
Out of the sun
We have the sway
To surprise the horde
Who dare show
Their unhappy flight
Over our fair country
To remain stalwart and stout
Look for each other
Resolute and sure
Onward and upward
Into the fray
Twelve steeds
Not impossible odds
The clatter of guns
Our spears of death
To those who dare
To breach our land
And scatter their gifts
Screaming banshees
Into the frey
Our valiant few
Their destiny today
For some to return
Others forsook
Caught unawares
Look in your mirror
Now now now!
Turn, tight away
Out of play
But an empty bed
There is nothing more
Not a word to be said
The door on ajar
Hoping that voice to be heard
But nothing, nothing
Save for the wind
The rattle of the window
A pipe in the tray
Where it will remain
‘Til the next resolute brave
