As if in a dream I hovered in flight,
The feeling was natural and a total delight,
I flew over fields, both fallow and green,
The cotton wool clouds, were part of the scene.
I landed with care, on a rocky hilltop,
The glider I hung from, did almost not stop,
Surveying the view with an appreciative eye,
Beneath billowing clouds in a pastel blue sky,
It was time to return, I looked over the edge,
And with great trepidation, launched off the ledge,
A thermal was rising, as I hurled off the hill,
It whirled me much higher, in an exhilarating thrill.
Man always has envied, the birds in the sky,
Wanting to emulate their ability to fly,
Hang gliding is the nearest to flying like birds,
But requires courage, as well as strong nerves.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem