you lean, and pull yourself head down, 
pull back and soar into the sky, 
all for that moment soon and good 
that you let go to fly 

the voices call, and you must leave; 
not knowing, one day, it's the last 
you'll ever pull and lean and soar, 
or fly that way again -- 

there's always a last time: we don't know, 
the end not marked like book or film -- 
and maybe a time, if luck holds true, 
when we can recall what we used to do