POEM 

Flight is freedom in its purest form,

To dance with the clouds which follow a storm,

To roll and glide, to wheel and spin,

To feel the joy that swells within,

To leave the earth with its trouble and fly,

And know the warmth of a clear spring sky,

Then back to earth at the end of a day,

Released from the tensions which melted away,

Should my end come while I am in flight,

Whether brightest day or darkest night,

Spare me your pity and shrug off the pain,

Secure in the knowledge that I'd do it again,

For each of us is created to die,

And within me I know, I was born to fly