Original Poems

Flying

My father was a pilot, too.
He used to take us down
To where the little planes were kept,
So we could fly around.

My brother loved the whole dang thing,
My sister didn’t care,
And I thought it was way too loud
When we were all up there —

A time my father gave his kids.
I can see clearly, now:
He shared his passions with us, then
The best that he

Knew how

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