A journey from a city to a small town,
And I thought... I would go down,
(I was nervous, not too many adventurous bones,
Not everyone, after, all is Indiana Jones..)
A rickety rackety propeller plane ride,
Tossed and hurled me from side to side.
Amidst jets that sniggered and scoffed,
The propeller plane, nonchalantly, took off.
The gall of the small contraption,
Of their majestic magnitude, just a fraction.
A take off with a war cry,
A noisy leap into the sky,
And though perhaps lagging in the race,
He chugged at his own pace..
He rocked and he plunged,
He plunged and he lunged,
He shuddered and he swayed..
Rather unsteady all the way.
Bullied oft, by clouds of turbulence,
That looked menacingly dark and intense,
But all the while, in tune, in sync,
With the wind beneath his wings...
And though I thought he would nose dive,
We landed and arrived!
Interesting indeed, it was to see him share space,
In the hangar, in the sky, defining his own place.
Years ago, I travelled in a small propeller airplane and it was certainly, a very interesting, somewhat alarming experience - otherwise it’s usually airbuses etc.
Reposting this old poem, dear Rhymer. Hope to write one soon.