Over the clouds envisage the crowds,
They're milling as ants in their bright stripy pants,
waving and pointing,
Sun bites their eyes,
they're squinting,
concentrate on the aircraft filled skies,
they dance in formation,
the planes that is,
all through the skies,
they are red as flying pillar boxes,
darting rapidly,
almost as if they're wanting to catch the mail.
English tails of red white and blue,
I so used to love them,
How about you?
(C) Livvi