The Wiltshire Air Ambulance, a Sonnet

What bird is this, I ask the man, that flies The silken skies with shining knives for wings We watch it slice the light above The Vize And swoop and rise, and circle as it sings Its melancholy song. I see him smile A bird that beats the sparrows to the crack Of dawn, he says. We stand a little while I blink. It flies to Bristol, and flies back He smiles again, and suddenly a tear Appears to dance a trickle down his face The bird has flown a sickly chick, my dear To half a chance, and half a hope of grace It flew me once. I look at him. Flew you? Yes, me, he said. And someone else I knew © Gail Foster 21st January 2018