Painting: “The Bushranger” by Barry Spicer

WINGS OF ANGELS

The echoing sound of rotor blades thumping in the vibrant and excited air
The sound of the machine gunners’ fury was very precise and clear
They looked like a giant wasp or bug searching for their victim
Swooping and swaying at tree top levels in hopes that he would hit them
The rockets were hitting their targets with uncanny accuracy
No time to be unsure of what we were doing or listen to hypocrisy
It was a time to show how tuff we were and that we knew what we were doing
To land the bird as fast as we could, unload and load, without over doing
The bird landed where smoke was popped, in pretty much of a hurry
Boxes of ammo come flying off and the wounded were loaded in a flurry
The pilot took one final look around to make sure all was accounted
Then lifted his bird up off the ground after the crew remounted
He flew away in the midst of the barrage with astounding resolve
And came back again a half hour later as he wanted to stay on the job
He wanted to make sure they all got out and no one was left behind
For he was the first one to set foot aground and was the last one to leave the line
The wings of angels as they were known to me was a friend indeed
For whenever we needed them, they were surely there, that was their creed

©Copyright November 14, 2007 by Stephen R. Henninger