Sailing headfirst into deep blue horizons,
gliding along wind currents, dipping and
tipping wings, flying high.
Beautiful clouds, white and piled high,
watching loop-t-loops, heads over tails,
stalling engines, catching in mid-air
spirals.
Artful skill, winding around the skies,
flying upside down.
Smoke markers drifting in the wind,
marking the places where planes were
performing tacitly, skillfully, all the
while.
Air shows are wonderful ways to sit,
watch and dream that you are one with
the plane high in the sky.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem