Fleet Air Arm

The peaceful skies no longer bear the scars of cannon flack,
wings of silver that cut through scudding clouds
bobbed and weaved,
straws drawn- who would make it safely back to ship,
or choose a watery grave,
fathoms deep both kite and ship dwell,
peaceful,
at rest.
  So many times to challenge fate and hit the target ploughing waves,
  bring the enemy to its end,
  ducked and dived,
  with thumbs aloft and one last wave to say ‘okay’ or maybe not-
  a final check then press the button- now-
  courageous souls who gave their all,
  peaceful,
  at rest.
Reflected in the waves that pulled them home and safe,
with voices cheering, hats spinning skyward,
skimmed and teased
at the biting foam and froth of salt that touched the brow,
torpedoes found their mark-a hit-
the Bismark gone and more besides,
peaceful,
at rest.
  Forget we not the Hurricanes, Hellcats, Corsairs, Martlets, Skuas,
  Ark Royal, ‘Crash’ Evans, Ronnie Hay- so many victories by so few,
  ‘Gladiators of Scapa Flow’
  seeking Graf Spey, Scharnhorst, Tirpitz,
  gone to watery graves in pieces, barely whole,
  a sky no longer smeared by dispersing smoke,
  peaceful,
  at rest.
Forget we not those bravest of the brave defending our skies,
who tipped their wings at danger,
back and forth,
tilting together, soaring ravaged skies,
firing into the toy-like ships floating beneath,
risking the burst of flame that hit their wings,
peaceful,
at rest.