I wonder as to how they fly, we dare not pry,
no wings nor feathers seen, this bird of sky,
nor sleep or rest even a place to nest.
Made of metal and tin, with blades so very thin,
this side that, turn up or down an around,
sightless seen in early light just short of ground.
Wiping, whining sound seen others light it found,
Grunt's closest friend to leave LZ and ground,
many a foe gone it's spits fire very profound.
Life of life to save every day, will always find,
dark dreams are made from it's sound to hear,
every hill, field and paddy too always in mind.
Never stop coming, going day night to bring the flight,
save a life or more handed with care through it's door,
bird of prey and peace and Grunt's life of flight.
Whirly Bird, we need you now, so find us to-night,
for the morn to late it'll be to save a life, me,
will stand and wait for my fate pray it's my flight.
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