The touch-down was irascible
in mood, in tone, in nascence,
metal wings cutting off tree-tops;
breeze became wind, wind became Kansas,
swamp tips severed and strewn about,
in a funnel of multi-green dust,
the landing lights so resplendent,
reflecting up and off the steel
like the spin of an orb in circle-
'round the three suns of Saturn.
Oh, Metal-Bird you sing loud, yet sweet,
repetitious vibrations, so friendly your choir
with your faded long stripes
and bullet shot stars,
red, white and blue
tattooed to your chest,
black hawk, I will love you forever;
thank you for taking me home from the battle.
FjR-MMXV
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem