Eight red hawks over Dorset fly,
A diamond glinting ruby red.
The grinding wail growing in force,
The whoosh of wind and air surprised
Sending eyes and necks across the sky
Searching for the hawks circling anew,
A canvass of red, white and blue,
Smoke that smothers and chokes the clouds,
A spectacle and work of art,
The perfect arrow through a heart.
Surely the pinnacle of delight,
Graceful excellence in the sky.
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