Happy Birthday To My Favourite Pilot

All birds and bees and things with wings drift in the breeze as Nature sings. A few brave souls who must be bright have lofty goals and claim the right to leave safe ground and seek the sky, thus heaven-bound they really fly. Persistent rumour says that a boy with skill and humour and special toy can be a flyer just like a bird. Flies even higher 'til earth is blurred. And spreads his wings peers through dark shades a king of kings, an ace of spades. II On Friday though his unknown past comes as a blow, an icy blast. The years are catching him in the act, grey claws are snatching - a secret pact! Contrived in Hell, to prove him fragile, a wrinkled shell still somewhat agile. The forces fail, they cannot ground him, the sound of..'HAIL', from those around him. Your muscles shrink at the six.......o........., you're on the brink to end the show. Authorities may think you're lacking, but no one sees when you get cracking. Through vertebral manipulation, your integral co-ordination keeps up-to-date, stays sharp and smart. A Pilot, mate is no old Fart.