A ten year old's fantasy

This is a page from my Battle of Britain dot-to-dot book that I had as a ten year old.
I was entranced by this film and the thought of being an RAF pilot in a Spitfire.
I was also entranced by this recently - beautiful film.
Twenty odd years later I was taking a walk across the fields in Oxfordshire and happened to come across a couple of Sir Adrian Swire's pals giving him a private air display with a Spitfire and a Mustang. I was doing a poetry course at nightschool at the time and so was inspired to write this:

Merlin's Magic

A diluted, dun and wintry Sun was seeping through the clouds.
As, walking over Hackpen Hill away from busy crowds,
I came across a curious sight within the quiet shire,
Parked there upon a farmer's strip: A Mustang and Spitfire.

They stood on that December field inanimate but cavalier.
Those graceful forms that art and science unitedly did bear.
And every curve and every line was through its purpose fashioned,
As function gave to those contours a spirit borne of passion.

And even though those Merlins roared before I took a breath,
I know my liberty I owe to those men who flew with death.
A chance to fly! The price was high... No chance for every man.
Their blood is spilt upon those wings, across that vital span.

In thoughtfulness I sat and watched as noiseless props revolved,
Then with a chug; a burst of smoke, the silence did dissolve
In deep melodious engine song. A swirling vortex of delight.
They trumpeted in confidence their mastery of flight.

When those fighters slipped earth's grasp and climbed the vivid heights.
They stole my breath as they streaked up - such lithe and puissant flight:
The metal now was living, unleashing timeless dreams,
The pilots in their sanctity, the cleaving airframes scream.

The beauty! Oh the power! Both life and death in movement.
What sorcery! Off man and myth! No god could show improvement.
Now high crescendo sweeping low in clamorous collusion,
Then climbing, punching holes through clouds - they're gone - airborne
illusions.