Published in Poetry
I love to fly from night to day,
And, pendant, wait the first smudged ray
With tired eyes. Then day breaks free;
The cold sky glows; and suddenly
The coastline smiles upon the sea.
And there's no proud and sharp delight
To match the loneliness of flight
Above the clouds. Then, later, high
Over the sunset, I hush the sky
With gliding turns, until I fly
Along the darkening rolling grass
To let my wheels, oil-cushioned, pass
Unfaltering from gentle flight,
As gentle as the glimmering light.