| With your photographs of Kitty Hawk | 
| And the biplanes on your wall | 
| You were always Amy Johnson | 
| From the time that you were small | 
| No schoolroom kept you grounded | 
| While your thoughts could get away | 
| You were taking off in Tiger Moths | 
| Your wings against the brush-strokes of the day | 
| Are you there? | 
| On the tarmac with the winter in your hair | 
| By the empty hangar doors, you stop and stare | 
| Leave the oil-drums behind you, they won’t care | 
| Oh, are you there? | 
| Oh, you wrapped me up in a leather coat | 
| And you took me for a ride | 
| We were drifting with the tail-wind | 
| When the runway came in sight | 
| The clouds came up to gather us | 
| And the cockpit turned to white | 
| When I looked, the sky was empty | 
| I suppose you never saw the landing-lights | 
| Are you there? | 
| In your jacket with the grease stain and the tear | 
| Caught up in the slipstream of the dare | 
| The compass rose will guide you anywhere | 
| Oh, are you there? | 
| The sun comes up on Icarus as the night-birds sail away | 
| And lights the maps and diagrams | 
| That Leonardo made | 
| You can see Faith, Hope and Charity | 
| As they bank above the fields | 
| You can join the flying circus | 
| You can touch the morning air against your wheels | 
| Are you there? | 
| Do you have a thought for me that you can share? | 
| Oh I never thought you’d take me unawares | 
| Just call me if you ever need repairs | 
| Oh, are you there? |