She comes in slowly, hanging on the air.
'MS' I'm told 'She's only thirty-one'.
They park her gently till her name is called.
She's pushing on the stick. Can she get up?
Uncertainly she rises; dials whirl;
the altimeter spins; horizons fall;
the ground revolves; the airspeed clock goes mad.
Her head is high. By God, she's bound to stall
but up she gets and makes toward the desk.
I watch. She's leaving; careful with her things,
she mounts a tricycle and slowly checks
the brakes, trim, undercarriage, radiator, guns,
or so it seems to me. Then chocks away!
Beyond the tarmac enemies await
but out she rolls; intrepidly she flies
to join The Few who dare the dangerous skies.
Bravery yes, the altimeter spins, horizons fall. Such a sad yet courageous depiction of another type of reality, A world apart she manages to navigate the treacherous skies of life each and every day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thought provoking piece, cleverly worded!