There are trails that a lad may follow
When the years of his boyhood slip,
But I shall soar like a swallow
On the wings of a silver ship,
Guiding my bird of metal,
One with her throbbing frame,
Floating down like a petal,
Roaring up like a flame;
Winding the wind that scatters
Smoke from the chimney’s lip,
Tearing the clouds to tatters
With the wings of a silver ship;
Grazing the broad blue sky light
Up where the falcons fare,
Riding the realms of twilight,
Brushed by a comet’s hair;
Snug in my coat of leather,
Watching the skyline swing,
Shedding the world like a feather
From the tip of a tilted wing.
for Kids
