The Birds

 

“Team in contact. Pop red smoke.”

Birds on short final, your words choke.

You fire a burst as you hit the ground,

You hear the birds bank, what a wonderful sound.

 

The seconds pass slowly, ever so slow,

You check your men, you try to keep low.

You hear the yells, you hear the screams,

Is this reality or someone’s bad dream?

 

The 60’s roar as the birds flies by,

You feel safe inside, a strange kind of high.

Like an angel with wings the birds do hover,

You run like hell from your sacred cover.

 

The door gunner smiles as he gives the pilot thumbs up;

Your men are safe; you lean back on your ruck.

You pray to the heavens past the blades that churn;

For you know in your heart you will soon return.

 

Their importance in this war plays such a large part,

This tribute to these heroes comes from my heart.

 

                                        Michael D. Monfrooe

                                        February 1983

 

 

To the flight crews who were always there.