R-ide high above the clouds,
A-s the sky is blue;
N-ot for a single moment,
D-efeat won't come to
Y-ou.
P-ray for sweet victory,
A-sk God to beat the foe;
A-llow the win to bring
L-oss to fret or woe.
I-n eighteenth of September,
S-uccess shall never die;
B-ecause of your firm faith,
O-pen your wings to ride high.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Riding high reading this great poem.
Thanks, Lamar.... a big like👍