RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Airplanes sitting down among trees alongside of houses where very little air can get beneath their wings.
Wanting to take off and fly around the heavens, they can only sit and dream, unless someone comes to get them and starts them with a key.
Being dependent on humans for gas, water and a revved up motor, to hop into the air and take flight to who knows where.
RoseAnn V. Shawiak's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Private Airport by RoseAnn V. Shawiak )
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