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FLYING THROUGH THE AIR
Thirty thousand pounds flying through the air,
Passengers sitting, reading, sleeping, eating without a care,
White clouds like many a comfortable blanket seen,
To cradle us high above in some celestial dream.

Sweet music on the radio, a film for you to see,
A meal to eat that is given completely free,
The sound of the engines telling that all is well,
Travelling at five hundred miles per hour so they tell.

Smooth flying most of the time, a little bump or two,
Peeks through the window to see something that’s new,
After the lakes and forests, a winding river or road,
Occasional clusters of buildings of isolated farms are found.

Soon we will descend to the earth far below,
I wish I could comprehend all that enable planes to go
Up on high and fly when they weigh many a ton
I’m just glad that two thousand miles in four hours is done.

(Millicent) Ann Margetson 12 August 2004