A life I’m glad I did not know,
Lives on inside a plastic dome
Atop a metal fuselage for flesh.
Fifty-cal. and cyclone motors,
Glossy paint and jet-black rotors,
Make the frame seem almost fact’ry fresh.
The hangar doors were half-ways peeling,
Showing metal mounts, revealing
The archaic sky steeds of world war.
Three World War Two planes stand aright
Pronouncing the upcoming flight
For which wealth had greatly been spent for.
A rush unseen moves me forward
As the wing-mount cyclones murmured
To an ancient rumble of a sound!
My friends and I, joined by this life,
Soon forgot all earthly strife.
Among the clouds we now all abound.
Never shall I, will I, forget
The sight that my eyes met
As a fraternal brother drew near.
A blue and glossy brother made
A short while quietly laid
Near our tail while brotherly motors cheer
For a short while, returning
Thrust me into such a yearning
That I might heavenly mount again.
Flown I have, yet not quite like this:
An experience of old-fashioned bliss
Like flying in a breathing, living plane.