Concourse run with carry on,
Clutched in the back of me.
The gurring of the engines,
And a sleek airplane to see.
The sharp angle take-off,
The marvel of my life,
The wings near scratching,
Teasing life.
I love airports and airplanes,
They're a second home to me.
A glamorous and scientific,
Place to be.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem