Soaring

 The aviator soared on high till he was far up in the sky, and he was happy as he soared, and people clapped and whistles roared and like a bird he rose and fell while in his bosom pride did swell. How proud he was to soar and soar, behind his motor’s buzz and roar, but O, the soreness he’d have borne in case his soarer hadn’t soarn.

Oct. 7, ‘09