17 August 2012
I sat on the fuselage bow, And watched the world sail by. Like a patch work quilt beneath my feet, As we sailed through the sky. The captain pilot, calls, And his sail men get to work. The air men help the out, Finding where the clouds lurk. They shift the propeller to west, And the sails follow suit. Catching the wind and flying... Pushing us to the loot. It's here in the nestpit I wonder, Looking out upon the damp sky... Should ships like our really float... Or remain on the sea to die... The men aboard begin their work. Using contraptions to trap the weather. Pushing it into containers, Metal, but surrounded with leather. Perhaps we shouldn't mess with these powers, To fly is already to push. But to steal to control the weather, We really aught to, shhhh. For its up here the gods can hear. We're thieves amongst their realm. But I'd risk it all for this freedom. I'd even take to the yoke helm. But my captain pilot I respect, And I'm here just as a guest. So I'll be quiet if I must. For these sights make me breathless.
©Odd
Air Ship • Opuss № I